The Calamity's Revenge
by Njoki
Summary: 8 year old Cloud, small town pariah, decides to visit the place his long lost father worked, Mount Nibel's Mako Reactor.  A butterfly flaps its wings and Gaia's destiny is forever altered.
1. Jenova, Daughter of the Stars

Summary: 8 year old Cloud, small town pariah, decides to visit the place his long lost father worked, Mount Nibel's Mako Reactor. A butterfly flaps its wings and Gaia's destiny is forever altered.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or world of Final Fantasy.

Warnings: Violence, Language, Sexual situations (M/M and M/F).

...

The Calamity's Revenge

Prologue: Jenova, Daughter of the Stars

Her father named her for the stars, most beautiful of the universe's creations. Ryquendë she was called. Beautiful as was the custom of her people; her eyes held the storm clouds, her hair a river of starlight for which she was named. Two thousand years have slipped between time's cruel fingers; her people fell out of the Planet's favor and diminished, this was largely the work of her own hands. Humans, once a lowly race upon Gaia's breast, flourished and the Cetra, her once mighty people, fell into ruin.

Such is the way of myth and legend that it becomes twisted and stretched with time. Ryquendë and the Ancients, as humans christened them, were not spared this fate. The Ancients became a mythical people, their powers exemplified and their weaknesses erased in human minds. They became Angelic creatures upon whom sin held no sway, for they were beloved by the Planet. But no people are perfect, and no society utopian.

The humans were not alone in the spreading of myth's flames. The Cetra spoke of the downfall of their race to their children and their children's children, until the true tale was but a cracked reflection of what once was.

Ryquendë's father named her for the stars, but as she fell into darkness and brought her people with her, she became a legend too powerful and terrible to remain a simple woman in the teller's mind. Ryquendë daughter of stars, became The Calamity fallen from the stars, bringing her virus with her. It was said she possessed the bodies of loved ones and turned brother against brother, daughter against mother. She became the embodiment of the evil she brought upon her people, the Cetra.

Ryquendë was born to rule, a daughter of kings. Time and tongues twisted the Ancients into a perfect race, but they knew sin and hate and anger. Pain and grief dwelt in their hearts as well as joy and love. They could do evil as well as good, in this they were no different from the humans who came after them.

Ryquendë's father, a king among men, gave his only daughter's hand in marriage to a neighboring War Lord, ignoring the whispers of his cruelty in favor of the promise of strong warriors at his back. Ryquendë was but fifteen when she born her husband twin sons. They held all her love and were the light of her eyes, for to her husband she gave nothing but hate. He was a cruel man, greedy and given to violence and drink. Ryquendë suffered greatly under his hand, but she did not despair.

Great was her power of mind and magic among her people, and as she aged she grew in knowledge and power, if not in wisdom. Her heart became dark and bitter, but for her two sons. Her husband grew to hate and fear her as she gathered allies and power about her, and sought to crush her. He aimed his blow at what she most cherished, and when her twin sons reached their tenth year he had assassins strike them down while they slept. He cared not that they were his seed, so great was his fear of his wife. When Ryquendë found the mutilated bodies of her children she lost herself in revenge and hate, and sought to make the world suffer as she suffered. Her husband she slew with her own hand, and ate his heart in her madness. Then she took war upon the world and heralded the end of the mighty Cetra.

The Cetra were gifted by the Planet in great strength of magic, far surpassing that given to the second race, humans. Their power extended beyond the bounds of materia, and lay in their ancient tongue and song. The language of the Ancients was lost with their society's destruction, and not even a whisper of its power remained to be passed down to the survivors.

In the days of the Cetra's glory they could sing the harvest into bounty, coax a flower into bloom, tame any animal, weave enchantments and protections into their cloth, call upon shadow to conceal them from prying eyes, capture the wind and ride it, these were but a number of the Planet's gifts to its blessed people. Each Cetra could work all the gifts to some measure, but some were gifted more strength than others.

Ryquendë's power was unrivaled in the mind magic's. She could speak without mouth over long distance, could persuade others to her will if the seeds of her ideas were already in their hearts, but her greatest and most terrible power lay in her ability to bind another's soul to her will. It was a perversion of the Planet's gift, born of the evil in her heart. As her mind fell into madness, she wielded this power and twisted many others to make her the most powerful Cetra to ever walk Gaia.

She performed malicious ceremonies to stretch her life, paying with her soul and mind for a warped form of immortality. Her mind lived on for two thousand years, trapped in her body, unable to join the Lifestream. This was the price she paid for power, though by then she had forgotten everything that made her mortal, even her son's memories were lost to madness.

Bitter were her thoughts in her own hell, entombed in the lifeblood of the planet after her army's defeat. She could not fathom how all her plans had come undone. Never had there been an army as magnificent as the one she brought down like a mighty hammer upon the Cetra's capitol, now lost and forgotten in the Sleeping Forest. Thousands of Cetra and lowly humans held thrall to her will, fuelled by her hate. She had bound even beasts unto her cause, entrapping Dragons, Hippogriffs, and Griffins in their own minds. Some had served her freely, being just as twisted as she, those she cherished the most, her beloved War lords and Sorcerers. They had sought revenge for their own reasons, and she had left their wills untouched as long as they served her. But bitter defeat had come, and at the hands of the Planet itself.

Never had Ryquendë thought the Planet would rise in power, but in the darkest hour, when her victory had been assured, Holy had been used by her enemies; her people's most cherished materia. The Planet had risen against her armies, and stolen the life from their bodies. Few had escaped its wrath.

Ryquendë's soul had not answered the call of the Lifestream, but remained entombed in her broken body. Never had she known such pain as in that moment. The despair of defeat was nothing to the pain of her soul, longing to unite with the Planet, but being denied by her own sins. In that one, fleeting moment, her mind and memory had been return, and the Planet forced her to look upon all that she had done and become, and she knew she would never again hold her sons, even in death. The Promised Land was closed to her, redemption impossible. Her only hope was too spend eternity trapped in the Lifestream, a watcher, but she could not have even that hope yet, still confined to her rotting body.

When the ashes settled, Ryquendë forgot the Planet's message to her, and fell again to hate and rage. The last Cetra buried what remained of her body in the Northern Crater, hoping she would never again troubled their world.

Two thousand years passed before she beheld the star's light again. But she was locked away. Confused, lost to sun and star, they confined her to a tube and too-bright white walls. Strange smells and sights assaulted her, and her hate and rage found a new target: the scientists, the filthy lowly humans who used sharp knives to pull her apart and dig into her. Many were her dreams of what she would do to these humans when she again gathered power for her revenge. The human Hojo received a special measure of her disgust. The way he spoke of her as if_ he_ could posses_ her_ power, calling her such a weak, repugnant name as Jenova, stealing her cells and having the audacity to name some human filth her 'son.'

Her revenge festered, trapped as she was trapped, unable to bring her awesome power down upon these humans. And then they left her, the pain and experiments ended, and the dark nothingness crept in again, but she did not fear. She was Ryquendë, a goddess, her power unmatched. She had spun many dreams in the dark centuries buried in the earth. She would outlast these meager humans and one day ride the stars for which she was named.

Escape came sooner than Ryquendë had anticipated, but she was not one to turn an opportunity away. She'd been touched by many revolting humans, all unworthy to be her chosen vessel. She'd toyed with the idea of taking the one they named her 'son' as her host when he was still close and young; perhaps she would have if he'd come to her in strength and submission, but he had not yet been worthy to house her.

She'd not entertained the hope of finding a full-blooded Cetra to host her spirit, thinking all had long returned to dust, but here before her appeared a descendant of one of her most trusted War Lords and Generals. She could smell Talahali's blood in the child's veins, it was faint and tainted, but it was enough to make an acceptable host. The scent of Cetra was distorted a few generations, but one of the boy's grandparents must have been a full-blooded Cetra; this pleased her greatly. The boy was still very young, she had much work ahead of her, but his youth would make him a more malleable vessel to her will.

Satisfied with her decision, Ryquendë, known to humans as Jenova, stretched out her mind and latched herself onto the young one come like a sacrificial lamb into her lair.

Chapter one: A Son's Journey

Cloud stared at the grotesque shapes painted in silver moonlight, dancing upon his bedroom wall. He wondered if the town's people would find them fit company for an outcast such as himself. His small mouth pressed into a thin line with the mocking thought. These last few days had been confusing and so painful for him.

He thought once Tifa regained consciousness from the fall, she would set the record straight and tell everyone that he'd only been trying to help her, but she had not said anything. Her eyes slid passed his whenever they met in the street. He hoped she was feeling guilty, she deserved it, he thought bitterly.

He had only ever wanted to be her friend, to be liked and accepted. He'd spent years courting her favor, as had all the other village kids. Tifa was_ the_ person to befriend. All the kids either wanted to be her friend or be her, and Cloud was no different. Tifa was _somebody_, the mayor's daughter. She was pretty, popular, outgoing, she always had the coolest things to say and worn the finest clothes, why wouldn't everyone like her?

Tifa was everything Cloud was not. He was shy and awkward, too skinny, with cheap clothes and cheap things. He wasn't good at sports, wasn't the smartest kid in school, his mother didn't have an interesting job, and they never had enough money. Nobody wanted to be friends with someone who still ate peanut butter and jam because his mother couldn't afford meat.

But the worst and most damning of Cloud's sins in the eyes of his fellow children, and adults as well, was the lack of ring on his mother's finger. Cloud hadn't understood when he was younger, only knowing that he didn't have a father like other kids, and this was seen as 'bad' by the villagers.

He had asked his mother about his father; desperate to know more about the man, but his mother had always brushed him off. His mother often did that, and he'd learned from a young age to gage his mother's moods. He tried not to feel angry with her; she worked fulltime to provide for them, and even if she never said it in so many words he knew she thought him a burden. Her grey eyes would watch him as he ate or worked at his homework, and he could feel the heavy weight of them in his heart. Food was expensive, school was expensive, but he hadn't realized until today how much his own mother resented his presence.

He'd pushed too far, he knew she was tired from work and angry about her latest boyfriend's desertion, but he'd spent the whole day being reminded of his own worthlessness in the eyes of the other villagers, and been desperate to know he was more than Strife, the little bastard, the town pariah, who would forever be a nobody. He nagged his mother to tell him about his father until she snapped out in anger, telling him exactly what she thought of him and his father: An unwanted child born from a passing fling with an unreliable outsider, who'd left her without a backwards glance. His father had been Shinra, and even at the tender age of eight, Cloud knew that in Nibelheim Shinra was as close to the devil as one could get. His father had worked at the Mako Reactor in the mountains, and for all his mother knew, still worked there.

Cloud hesitantly asked if his father knew about him, and his mother had laughed, tossing blonde curls over her shoulder:

"Ya d'ink d'at make a difference? I carr'ed ya, an bore ya, an I'm left ta shoulder yer weight 'round here. If I wasn't a descent sort'a woman I'd a gone down ta old woman Carrow's 'n had ya taken care of 'fore birth, an a lot o trouble it've saved me too! But I'm a civ'lized woman, and don't hold with d'at sort a thin'. Yer my son, an I take care o ya, but that man, ya _father_, he Shinra an d'at where it end. He know how ta make a woman weak at d'kneens, I give him d'at. With d'ose blue eyes, but he aint lookin fer no kid, so get that idea out'o yer head now."

Cloud squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out his mother's words. He knew he'd been a burden, but to be told he'd never been wanted, not even for a moment, tore into his already shredded spirit. He really was nothing; no one, not even his mother wanted him. Acid tears scorched his cheeks and he bit his lip to keep from sobbing. He was so weak, and he hated it, hated himself.

Cloud threw off the thin blanket and crouched on the cold floor, his hands searching under his bed desperately for his hidden box of treasures. Chilled fingers brushed over the cardboard and he pulled out the worn shoe box, cradling it reverently in his arms as he settled back in bed.

He reached under the pillow for his pin light, one of the few things in this world that was his. It was cheaply made, but he didn't care. His mother had given it to him for his eighth birthday just a few weeks ago, and he'd used it sparingly ever since, nursing the small battery.

He pulled the covers around him, making a cocoon, and pretending he was far away from Nibelheim on a secret mission with his hero Sephiroth. They were monster hunting, and Sephiroth had just smiled at him for an impressive kill.

He clicked on his pin light and slid the lid off the shoebox. Inside were all the newspaper clippings he'd horded of his hero. He pulled out his favorite, a full sized, colored print that filled half the front page of the newspaper. Carefully he smoothed out the folded edges, and gazed enthralled at the being revealed. He could look at Sephiroth for hours.

The picture showed Sephiroth with his massive sword drawn, silver hair whipping about him in the wind, bodies of treacherous Wutai rebels strewn about his feet. The look in Sephiroth's eyes always sent goose-pimples up Cloud's arm. Sephiroth looked so strong; he always looked strong in all the pictures, but there was something different in his eyes here. Unlike the other clippings, this one was not posed, but straight from the front lines, or so the article said. Those were real men he'd killed, that was real blood on his sword, and his eyes, his eyes were on fire.

Sephiroth always looked perfect, but his face was cool and blank in the other pictures, his eyes showing nothing as he stood next to President Shinra, or was attired in formal military wear appearing at such and such a special event, but in this picture the man looked _alive_. He was surrounded by death and he never looked more alive, more enchanting, or more human -even if it was a dark, terrifying sort of humanity the eight-year-old could not quite understand. He didn't know what it said about his hero, it was beyond his young mind to grasp the meaning behind the picture. He'd never seen a man killed, and it all seemed very distant, even romanticized to him. All he knew was that his hero burned like fire in this picture, and it drew him like a moth.

"What should I do Sephiroth?" It was a question Cloud had asked his hero many times before, but never with such desperation.

He tried to imagine what Sephiroth would do in his situation, but he couldn't picture Sephiroth ever being ostracized by people, or treated like filth. He couldn't imagine Sephiroth's mother not loving him, or his father leaving him. Cloud wondered fleetingly who Sephiroth's parent's were, but the thought was overwhelmed by his own despair. All he'd wanted was to save Tifa, he hadn't meant for the bridge to break, or for her to get hurt. It was all his fault! Now Tifa would never want to be friends with him.

A new thought slipped into his mind like the trembling of of pink dawn: it wasn't his fault Tifa fell, but he was getting blamed for it, and she wasn't telling anyone the truth, maybe…maybe she wasn't as perfect as he'd always thought? If someone had treated Sephiroth in such a manner would he still try to be friends with them? Cloud didn't think so. He couldn't envision someone treating Sephiroth so poorly, but if they did, then surly his hero would think them not worth his friendship. But Cloud wasn't worth anything; he was a nobody and would be lucky if Tifa ever talked to him again.

But, his mind argued, if Tifa had treated Sephiroth in such a manner, had practically _lied_ about his intentions to hurt her on the bridge, he wouldn't just forgive them. What would Sephiroth do to Tifa if he were Cloud? Cloud didn't know, but he was sure Sephiroth wouldn't try to be friends with Tifa again. Maybe he would get some sort of revenge on her for her betrayal and deceit? Sephiroth wouldn't have let the villagers talk about him like they did Cloud, but Cloud knew he couldn't stop them. He wasn't strong and brave like Sephiroth, he was a nobody.

Cloud's mind turned to his mother's revelation about his father. He didn't know how to gain his mother's love. He'd tried and tried to be worthy; he did all his chores, and worked hard at school even if he wasn't the best. He sighed, hopelessness blanketing him. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't his own mother love him?

He turned back to the mystery of his father. His mother was upset Cloud cost so much money and placed such a burden on her, maybe if Cloud's father were here she would love him? But his father was not here, he could be dead or half way across the world…or at the Reactor. Cloud rolled this last thought over in his mind. His father could be just up the mountain, unaware he had a son. His mother's words bit at his thoughts, reminding him that he was nothing special.

Cloud's eyes traced the picture still spread before him. If he were Sephiroth what would he do? He would be brave and strong. He would climb the mountain and find his father. Maybe his father wouldn't want anything to do with him, but that was part of being brave -taking a chance. If he were Sephiroth… Cloud bit his lip, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He wanted to be a SOLDIER one day and fight at Sephiroth's side. He would never be anybody if he couldn't even face his father, but the Mako Reactor was a long way up the mountain, and there were monsters.

Cloud frowned. He didn't know how to fight; he'd never even seen a monster before. How was he going to get up there? He was fast and small, maybe he could out run them?

Cloud clicked off his pin light, flopping back on his small bed, and upsetting his cave of blankets. He couldn't ask anyone for help, not that they'd give it if he asked. He might die if he went alone. Cloud's mouth hardened. It wasn't as if anyone would care if he never returned. If he couldn't even get to the Reactor, then how was he supposed to be a SOLDIER? He was afraid, yes, but isn't that what bravery is? Overcoming fear? That's what Mr. Henderson said, and he was a village elder, so it must be true.

His mind made up, Cloud turned his attention back to what he would need for his journey. A weapon, that was a problem, there weren't a lot of weapons in Nibelheim, and none he could ever afford.

His thoughts drifted to the wicked hunting knife Mayor Lockheart liked to show off to the other men. He'd bought it from the trader who came into town once a month, and it'd cost him a pretty Gil. A blade like that would practically be a sword in Cloud's small hands.

Cloud's mood darkened as he remembered Mayor Lockheart's treatment of him. The man had been vicious, a few words from him and the whole town turned against Cloud, condemning him, shunning him. Cloud's hand raised to trace his cheek, the one Mayor Lockheart had slapped when Cloud brought an unconscious Tifa down from the mountain. Cloud felt the shame and hurt of that moment again. If only he'd been stronger…but it hadn't really been his fault had it? He was tempted to argue that it had, but the bridge had been buckling under Tifa's weight, she was going to fall and he'd only tried to save her.

His eyes narrowed, he was weak yes, but it wasn't his fault Tifa had gone up the mountain. If it'd been Sephiroth he wouldn't have let a man slap him, he wouldn't have let Tifa fall either but that wasn't the point, Cloud reminded himself. If he'd been Sephiroth he wouldn't have let himself be treated like filth, and he wouldn't let Tifa lie about him either. Sephiroth would make them pay! Cloud didn't know how to get revenge upon Tifa and her father.

His mind jumped back to the hunting knife, he would need a weapon to find his father. He remembered the new silver bangle Tifa showed off at school yesterday. Her father had gotten it for her too kept her safe. It would be very useful if he was going up the mountain, the silver would help keep the monsters away.

Cloud was a little shocked by what he was contemplated. He'd never stolen anything in his life, it was wrong. But what Tifa and her father had done was wrong too right? His conscious settled down again with this reassurance, and he began to contemplate his Great Theft and what he'd need for the journey up the mountain.

….

Cloud was exhausted, his feet dragging the last few steps to the Reactor. The bleeding in his leg had ebbed, but it still throbbed painfully. The night sky was accented by the green glow of the mako fumes giving the Reactor a menacing appearance. Cloud had never seen a Reactor before and his impressionable mind was not reassured, but even with the less then welcoming atmosphere, Cloud collapsed on its stairs.

The hike up the mountain had taken him all day, and he'd long since ached to lay down his weary body and rest, but he'd been too terrified. He had no idea how he'd slain the Nibel wolf he'd encountered on the hike up, it was all a blur in his exhausted mind. He bore the wound from where the wolf had bitten him. He'd looked into the feral animals eyes and believed his death had come, but he had more strength then he knew, and managed to sink the hunting knife into the wolf's neck.

Other then the wolf, the trail had been largely clear of monsters. He'd sighted some larger monsters, but high-tailed it away and they had not pursued, perhaps not deeming him meal enough to expend the effort to catch. Whatever the reason, he was thankful to still be alive, and couldn't even contemplate the hike back down yet.

After he rested for a moment, Cloud returned his gaze to the massive shadow behind him. He wondered if the Reactor's workmen slept here. The idea wasn't appealing to Cloud. He laid his head back down between his legs; he'd never been more exhausted in his life, or more terrified. He thought he'd experienced terror last night when he'd crept into the Lockheart's home, but it was nothing to facing down a Nibel wolf.

His hand went to touch the silver bangle adorning his arm. He was surprised he felt no guilt over his Great Theft; instead he found it almost empowering. He didn't feel like Cloud Strife the nobody, with an impressive knife on his belt and a valuable bracelet adorning his bastardly wrist. It may have been a superficial kind of power, but he'd never felt anything of its kind before. Is this what gave Tifa her confidence? Knowing that she had the best of everything; did the things her father bought her set her so far above him?

Cloud sighed, chasing the thoughts away and standing up. He wasn't going to think about Tifa anymore, he promised himself. She wasn't a true friend, and with her, now his, bangle about his wrist, he didn't think her quite so special anymore either.

His chin tilted up, and he squared his shoulders. He had to be a somebody or his father would never want him. Cloud forced himself to walk into the Reactor with confidence he'd never felt in his life, and hoped desperately wasn't as fake as it felt.

The great doors were unlocked, and Cloud slipped his thin frame between them, peaking into the green lit darkness beyond. The floor and ceiling glowed with green light that did little to reveal much of anything. He cautiously followed the lights, biting his lip in worry. He hadn't thought too much on what he planned to say once he got to the Reactor, he'd been solely focused on the journey up, not the end result. Would they kick him out for trespassing before he had a chance to even talk to his father?

Cloud walked for what felt like hours, but it was probably just his over active imagination. The place was creepy, and he didn't see any people. Doubt began to creep into his heart. What if his father wasn't here? What was he going to do? He was too terrified to contemplate the journey down the mountain again, and even if he made it, how was he going to explain to his mother where he'd been? And what if Mayor Lockheart discovered he'd stolen from him?

Cloud's anxiety increased as yet another bend only revealed more empty hallways. He would have to hide the knife and bangle, if the Mayor couldn't find them, then he could hardly be punished for the theft could he?

His mind raced with possible excuses he could give his mother for his absence, before the sudden painful thought hit him: what if she hadn't noticed? What if she wouldn't even care that he disappeared for a whole day? Cloud felt tears begin to pool in his eyes. He was so tired, and his chest hurt in a pain sharper than any exhaustion. He'd thought, if only he could find his father…. A sob echoed in the barren corridors and Cloud wrapped his arms about himself, feeling very alone.

He trudged around another bend and found himself in a large high-ceilinged room. In the center of the room rose a steep staircase above which was carved the word 'Jenova.' Cloud stood indecisive for a moment, he wavered between going back, and the small flicker of hope that his father might be beyond this door.

The despair of what awaited him down the mountain drove him to scale the steep steps. It took him several long minutes before he discovered how to open the electronic doors. His eyes were assaulted by light when he slipped through, and a mechanic cranking sound grated upon his ears. His feet led him to the steep plummet from where the brilliant green grow was coming.

Cloud hastily stepped back, the drop was at least a hundred feet, and while he'd never seen mako before, he knew that must be what was waiting at the end of that drop.

A whisper twirled about Cloud's mind, sliding down the length of his spine. He spun around, surprised to find himself alone. His gaze were drawn up, and immediately captured by a large finely crafted metal statue of a woman. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own, taking him towards the woman. The closer he drew, the louder the whisper in his ear became, but he was not afraid, there was something comforting about the voice.

His fingers brushed over the woman's cold face, but the voice told him not to stop here. He squeezed his lithe body behind the mental woman and beheld the source of the comforting voice. For a moment he saw half a woman floating in a tube, a malicious presence clinging to her hideous form like vines, but then his vision shifted and the comforting presence returned.

An angel. He could think of no other word for the ethereal woman before him. Her hair was a cascade of dancing stars, her eyes warm and welcoming, and her smile gentle.

/_Cloud_/ His named dropped from her tongue as he'd always longed for his own mother to say it. Caressing the word as if precious to her /_Welcome child of Talahali and carrier of the High-blood_/

Cloud's brow furrowed in confusion. "Who is Talahali and what is High-blood, Lady?"

A look of annoyance crossed the woman's features, and Cloud took an instinctive step back from the suddenly chilled atmosphere. /_You will not speak without permission vessel. I will tell you what I wish you to know in my own time, it is not for you to question_/ Just as suddenly as the chill crept into the woman's voice it vanished. /_Now child, do you know how special you are? Of great and exalted lineage_/

Cloud could only stare at her in confusion, he was nobody special. /_Ah, I see, you have been treated unfavorably by those close to you, but take heart child, I am with you now. I will take care of you; I will never_ _leave you, and you will be my treasured, beloved vessel. I shall give you strength and love, I see in your heart you desire these things greatly, and they shall be yours. I will forge you into a sword and you shall stand by my side when the time comes for revenge, my young War Lord. Come_/ she extended her hand to Cloud, /_Come_/

Cloud was mesmerized by the woman, she was offering him everything he wanted, but a small voice in his head stopped him for accepting her hand. Why? It asked. Why is she choosing me? No one had ever chosen Cloud, unless it was to mock him. The other school children used to play games with him, before he learned. His desperation for acceptance was his greatest weakness. What fun they would have, pretending to be his friend just to shun him the next day, delighting in his stricken face.

The woman was offering to care for him, love him, teach him to be strong, but… something wasn't right, how did she know these things about him? How did she know his name?

The woman's eyes narrowed at his hesitation, and he felt the whisper in his mind strengthen. Warmth and comfort wrapped about him like a cloak, and oh, the woman looked so beautiful and kind. He hoped she would hug him.

His feet drew him closer. She would take care of him, the voice whispered, smothering his doubts in an echo of false love. She would be His Lady, and he would serve her faithfully in all things. Cloud nodded in response to the suggestions, his thoughts scattering as he reached the woman's side. He could see nothing beyond her; hear nothing beyond His Lady's voice.

The woman's arms opened for him and Cloud fell into them as so many had before him, enslaved to her will. When the image of the woman disappeared in his arms, he was not concerned, he felt His Lady take up she rightful place in his mind. When she charged him to break the glass tube before him, he drew his knife and shattered the glass. When she told him to cut the head off the creature before him, he did not question her command, simply obeyed.

He placed the severed head gently into the knap sack he carried up the mountain with him. He cocked his head when the headless creature in the tank dissolved into dust before him, but His Lady soothed away his trouble and set his feet towards the outside world and a starry night sky.

He felt His Lady's delight as she beheld the stars again. Stars were special to His Lady, and so they became so in his heart as well. As they wandered north, towards Rocket Town and their new lives, His Lady began his training. He had much to learn, but he felt a shadow of unease, wondering how he could possibly protect His Lady, knowing how weak Cloud Strife, bastard, small town pariah was. His Lady did not approve of his thoughts, his weakness was only temporary; she would make him into a peerless Weapon, she promised.

But still he doubted himself, so His Lady gave him a gift, and banished his doubts and fears into the dark corners of his mind. She gave him a new name, so he could leave the weakness of Cloud Strife behind. Lee Talahali she christened him, after his ancestor who she told him was once a powerful War Lord, and one day he too would march into battle at her side.

….

Ryquendë and her vessel traveled Gaia for the next four years. She had much to learn of this new world of humans and science. A flood of knowledge and unimagined ideas sparked in her cunning mind, setting it aflame.

Her chosen vessel was severely limited by his age, inadequate education, and skill. But she quickly smoothed out the undesirable childish habits, and concentrated on building their information base as well as attaining some usefully skills for their imperfect body. Ryquendë had no intention of devoting years training her temporary vessel; but she did not wish to be set back again by the death of her chosen host.

She was loathed to part with the secrets of the Cetra's ancient tongue, but in the first few months of her entrance into the new world, she was forced to impart precious secrets in order to survive. She horded all but the essential knowledge, teaching the boy only the magic of concealment and the manipulation of the elements.

As she grew in strength, she effortlessly gathered the knowledge she needed about her. A brush of her mind and she was able to achieve private tutoring for her vessel in Junon. A whispered suggestion, and her vessel was apprenticed to a Wutainese martial artist.

Her vessel walked the world, with her watching behind his eyes, and her will guiding him. History, science, math's, politics, modern weaponry, anything she could use in her conquest of the world.

At times even her higher mind would be forced to rest and assimilate all she was learned, for she stretch this body to the limit, forcing the boy to study and train for weeks on end, stopping only to eat and sleep. During these times of reflection and digestion, she would fall into a meditative state for days, and nurture the boy's mind with dreams of war and her own memories of battle and the glory of days gone by. She paraded the deeds of his forefather, the War Lord Talahali, before the boy in an attempt to fashion him into Talahali's image.

But the boy was a disappointment. His weakness drug him down, the unwillingness to lose himself in bloodlust and hate. For all her molding of the boy's mind, Lee Talahali remained but a false mask of strength and confidence hiding the fragility of her vessel's inner self.

Occasionally the boy's spirit would stir, remembering things he once knew: the pleasure of a scaled tree, or a lazy afternoon spent playing childish games of war, but Ryquendë's will was absolute. The only times her vessel managed to send weak stirrings of distress against her, were when she had the boy kill, but such rebellions were easily repressed.

When her vessel reached his eleventh year, Ryquendë stumbled upon a hidden wealth of knowledge. She had avoided Cosmo Canyon in their travels, hearing of the people's adoration for the Planet. But word of a secret Shinra resistance group in the area peaked her interest. The human's explosives and guns caught her notice from the beginning, and her vessel had been instructed in the basics of both, but she was eager for more, as well as potential warriors for her future army.

The group, AVALANCHE, did not disappoint. Their leader, a warrior woman of unsurpassed strength outside of Shinra, was strong of mind and body, and Ryquendë entertained the idea of making Elfé her permanent host. But the thought came to naught when she discovered the summons materia trapped in the woman's arm, Ryquendë would not share her chosen body with any other being.

A year they dwelt in Cosmo Canyon, learning more of explosives and computers among other useful things. Elfé was the first human Ryquendë encountered who resisted her mind magic, which was what first drew her interest; however it was an encumbrance. While Elfé was not entirely free of Ryquendë's persuasions, she never fully trusted Ryquendë's vessel, it was unfortunate, but not a devastating development.

Her vessel was more disappointed than Ryquendë. She felt the boy's awe and longing when he watched Elfé with a sword in her hands. Ryquendë had felt his desire for this skill many times before, but they had no need of another weapon when her vessel was already trained in magic, Wutai martial arts, guns, and explosives. Her vessel had served its use, but she was anxious for a new, stronger one, it was unfortunate no full-blooded Cetra survived.

It was on account of their newly developed proficiency in hacking, that Ryquendë discovered the Jenova Project. She was anxious to uncover the full list of atrocities committed against her by Shinra and Hojo, as well as explore the possibility of her alleged son Sephiroth as a potential host. She had dismissed the boy previously, hoping to find another Cetra, but this hope seemed futile now and if she had to settle for a human, then she wanted to inhabit the strongest of their kind.

And so, Ryquendë and her vessel returned to the place it all began. Four years after leaving Nibelheim her vessel walked into the Shinra mansion.


	2. Chaos Awaken

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 2: Chaos Awaken

A familiar abhorrent buzzing nagged at Chaos's awareness once again. The Planet's whining grated on his nerves as it had these last few weeks, months? He did not care, and would have continued to ignore the Planet's needs if She were not so annoyingly persistent. The Planet wanted him to do Her bidding like the chained dog he was. Only Lucrecia Crescent could claim more of his hatred then the Planet.

Chaos yearned again for the long numbness he'd found in the Lifestream, floating formless and thoughtless, as the century's flowed like water over him. He'd been a diamond, caught in the current, unmoving and unchanging. Time had no hold over him; he had found forgetfulness in the Lifestream's embrace, the only mercy the Planet had granted him.

Gaia had taken away his right to an honorable death, and barred him from The Last Battle: death. Those who emerged victorious from The Last Battle joined their families and clans in paradise, where the mead never ran dry and they feasted on Elk and goat's cheese, and autumn's apples all year long. Paradise, where a thousand years of glorious battles and Dragon wrestling awaited a warrior, and the fear of death and sickness had been chased away like a warm breeze by winter's bite.

The Planet had enslaved Chaos, last of the Kagalbi, favored children of the greatest God, War. Chaos would never forgive Gaia, and never forget. Two thousand years since he flew free beneath the snow crested peaks of the Nibel Mountains. He had been only a youth when a human king brought death upon his people.

The day of his world's ruin was branded upon his mind like a hot iron burns a slave's skin. He'd been hunting wolf with his long spear; his clan's gift to a young warrior when they reach fifteen winters and became a man. His older brothers had been with him, and his three fathers, all come to see how he handled himself in his first hunt since coming of age.

Winter's fingers had been greedy that year, and his clan was anxious to bring many kills home to the fire to dry for the coming cold. If he killed his first wolf, he would have his own fur this winter with which to make a bed, and not have to lie next to his younger brothers.

One of his older brother's had won the right of second mate to his heart's desire, and would leave their clan before the first snow fall. It was the custom of their people for a female to have more than one mate. The most he'd seen was four males to a female, but his mother's last remaining father told of a female who claimed eight males for her mates.

A male's life was short and brutal. A female needed more than one so that she always had a protector and provider when The Last Battle took one of her mates.

When the Dragons still nested in the mountains with the Kagalbi, life was shorter, but in recent years it was not uncommon to find a number of males reaching their fortieth winter. The Kagalbi had once been the natural rival's of the Dragons, competing for hunting lands and nesting caves, but two hundred years ago all but a small, weak remnant of the Dragons had followed the Cetra's call and become their pets in the stone capital. The Kagalbi despised the Dragons, considering them now no better than slaves.

The Cetra had tried to court the Kagalbi's favor as well, but none of their clans would listen to the honeyed words. They did not need the Cetra's magic or learning; they had long spears and high caves and their own tongue and traditions. They had scorned the idea of writing, and the promise of power and wealth, seeing the offer for what it was: thralldom. The Cetra had deep magic and sharp swords and tricky words; the Kagalbi would've been nothing but guard dogs dancing to their turn, just as the Dragons were now.

The Cetra had left them to their 'uncivilized' ways, scorning their brutality, and calling their women whores for taking more than one male. They had not feared the Kagalbi's wrath, for they had little to fear, the Kagalbi were a small people unaccustomed to the Cetra's open lands. They would stay safe in their high mountain caves and nurse their hate; the Kagalbi had long memories, even if the reach of their arm was short. The Kagalbi never achieved their revenge though, instead they met their end in humans, the weakest of intelligent creatures to walk Gaia, one's they and the Cetra had taken as slaves since they first walked up from the south.

The Kagalbi held their families and clans above any jewel, the finest spear, even pride and a warrior's honor fell before the feet of family and clan unity. Children were many and loved equally by all their fathers. A Kagalbi mother would bear three children ever spring as long as she was fertile, but hard winters, sickness, and the violence and fighting between clans, claimed most of the children before they reached adulthood. Those who survived were treasured beyond all measure, the pride of their parents and clan.

Just as the Kagalbi would take human slaves, so too did the humans hunt the Kagalbi. The humans would venture deep into the mountains to the Kagalbi's high nests, and pick off any who strayed; killing them, and taking parts of their bodies to sell for healing and strengthening potions. The humans believed if a woman ate the heart of a Kagalbi she would bear a dozen sons, and if a man ate of it, sword and arrow would never pierce his skin.

Poachers came and killed one of the Gurhan clan's females and two of her children. Her three husbands, enraged, sought out the murderers and slaughtered them in their beds, taking the men's wives and children as slaves. The remaining human villages took their case before their king, and he decided to free his people from the constant threat of these 'monsters' forever.

Chaos, his brothers and fathers, had been hunting the day they came with their burning arrows and long ladders. The humans had cut down the sacred Nibel firs, and built siege ladders to scale the cliffs and reach the Kagalbi's high nests. They had shot flaming arrows into the caves, bringing fire and smoke.

The Kagalbi brought their wrath down upon the humans with shape claws and long spears, but their skin was pierced by swords and arrows, and their defenses overwhelmed by the hundreds of human warriors. The human's killed them all, women and children. Chaos watched his world burn and his family's blood spilt upon the human's merciless steel, down to even his little infant sisters.

Only a handful of the Kagalbi escaped, but one by one they too died. Far from home, they died of festering wounds, and pitiless humans who drove them from land to land as they searched for a place to rest and heal. Heartache took others too, and they turned their weapons upon themselves in their grief.

When Chaos was left, last of all, he wandered into the Cetra's lands. As much as he would always loath them, he hated humans more, and knew the Cetra would not turn him away while they faltered under the Mad Queen Ryquendë's wrath.

Chaos fought beside the Cetra when Ryquendë brought war to their ancient capital, and he rejoiced in the blood and the chance to visit death upon the humans in the Mad Queen's ranks. Chaos was there when the Planet took her revenge upon Ryquendë. He found pleasure in the deaths and the destruction of the arrogant Cetra, but he also despaired, for he'd hoped to find an honorable death in battle so that he might join his family in paradise. He refused to take his own life, to do so would be dishonorable and would hurt his chances of coming out of The Last Battle victorious. Those who took their own life rarely found their way to paradise.

Even in the Planet's moment of victory, she perceived that Ryquendë was yet too powerful for her remaining blessed Cetra to vanquish. So she sought to add another WEAPON to her defenses, should her fallen daughter Ryquendë rise again.

Gaia's mind was drawn to the hate and pain of one of War's children, the last, and she saw this hate could be used by Omega when he prepared her for The Great Journey. Omega, she perceived, would need a squire should Ryquendë's taint still stain her skin; she wished to be flawless and unspoiled like a virgin bride, when she found a new planet to claim.

Chaos had been dismayed and frightened when the Planet took him in her palm, and changed him. Power she had given him. She'd made him _other_, no longer Kagalbi, never again to dream of paradise and love and family. He'd been enslaved and molded into a WEAPON, a demon, and he hated Her.

Hate and bitterness, grief and pain, these he nurtured in his heart, unforgiving. He hated the Cetra, he hated humans, but most of all he hated the Planet for his unbreakable chains. The Planet placed him in the Lifestream when finished with him, and as time passed the numbness came and he embraced it, the only mercy the Planet had given him. But then a human, Lucrecia Crescent, imprisoned him again; tied him to a human body, a mere demon among many, all power and will torn from him.

Long he'd dwelt within the human's mind as time regained her callous hold on him. At first he'd joined the other demons in tormenting their human host. A human. He hated him on principle. He quickly discovered the other demons were nothing like him, nearly mindless, holding no thoughts but death and destruction. It was his desire to separate himself from them that caused him to fall into silence in their host's mind, letting the other demons have their way.

He realized, as he watched the other demons torture their host, that there was little left of him besides his hate. Few thoughts consumed him but mindless destruction, and he was ashamed and disgusted by how fall he'd fallen to become a mindless beast, a monster. And so he had silenced himself, and fallen into contemplation.

It was during his reflections when the human's dreams and nightmares began to draw him. They were a distraction from his own shame and pain; but soon he grew curious, not understanding many of the things he saw, so far removed were they from all his own experiences.

As time passed, he studied his host and his memories, and found a strange feeling of kinship awaken within him. At first it had been unwelcome and disgusting, he wanted nothing to do with a human, but he learned to accept the empathy and kinship he felt toward his host.

He suffered loneliness, last of his people, adrift in a foreign world, bound to not only the Planet's will, but a human's whim. He had nothing but his hate and the pain of memories. While he still indulged in many fantasies of revenge and freedom, he came to regard his host as a balance for his own mindless rage, and used him as an anchor to keep himself from drowning in hate.

Now the Planet was stirring him again, pulling on his chain and causing his unbreakable collar to tighten about his spirit. He was WEAPON, and Gaia sensed a threat close by. He could've ignored the tugging. Gaia had forged him as Omega's squire, and as such he only answered to Omega, but it was annoying, and he thought his host's body had been lying in this coffin long enough.

Chaos hadn't attempted to take control of his host's body since he'd been among the demons tormenting the human, but now he did. Unlike before, he knew his host's mind as clearly as his own, perhaps better than his own. So now he slipped gently to the front. Instead of attempting to seize control in violence, he did so in stealth. His host slumbered on, enjoying one of the rare happy dreams that placed him in some imagined future with the loathsome Lucrecia.

Chaos's delicate claws curled about the coffin's lid, sliding it softly to the ground. His wings rustled happily behind him, glad to be free. He rose to his feet, wishing he had his spear in his hand. Suddenly he felt cold metal settle into his palm. His glowing golden eyes stared down at the unfamiliar weapon. His host's memories flooded his mind, and his claws tightened about the gun, understanding instinctively how to use it and knowing he was a skilled marksman.

Chaos cautiously searched the manor for the perceived threat, finding names for unfamiliar things coming effortlessly to his mind: that was a sink, there, a couch. A wiggling pull lead him on, and he estimated the enemy was near.

When he crept silently into a bedroom he knew he'd found the source of the Planet's distress. Upon the bed lay a small golden haired human boy, but there was a wrongness about him. It niggled on his senses, familiar yet just out of reach, like a faint scent upon the wind tickling your nose.

He stood over the boy, hearing the Planet demanding the child's destruction; he ignored it, instead throwing out his senses, trying to pinpoint the strange familiarity. His gaze fell to a travelers pack resting innocently on the bedside table.

Metal shoes made no sound as they crept closer. His clawed fingers gently pulled back the zipper. It was a woman's head with silver hair. Her face was twisted into hideousness with blue decaying skin and inhuman eyes, but he knew her immediately, Ryquendë the Cetra queen.

The Planet's crazed screams almost caused him to miss the sudden rustling on the bed behind him. Chaos spun around, gun locking on its target in a heartbeat. The human child was awake and moving towards him, an unnatural snarl twisting childish lips.

"Demon span! How dare you come into my presence and disturb my rest, savage!" It was the boy's voice, and yet it was not, his blue eyes were blank and empty. Chaos had killed many humans and Cetra with those blank eyes in Ryquendë's war, and he knew the boy was lost to her thrall.

Fire shot out of the boy's hand, hitting Chaos square in the chest. The speed and power of the move surprised Chaos, but the fire rolled off him, harmless. If he'd still been Kagalbi he would've been dead, but he was WEAPON now, and it took more than a fire spell to hurt him.

Chaos let off a folly of shots, but the boy's speed was unnatural as he dodged them. The Kagalbi knew little of the Cetra's ancient magic, only rumors of its power, but Chaos had spent months fighting alongside the last free Cetra. They would never have consented to reveal their magic's secrets, but he'd learned the power was born of their ancient tongue.

He heard the boy hissing words under his breath as he spun about the room, and recognized the Cetra's tongue. He knew a handful of spells himself, the Cetra held the secret of their ancient magic close, but desperate times led to carelessness, and he'd overheard more than one chanted spell.

Chaos had no need of that magic here though, the boy had some skill, but Chaos had lived and breathed war since he sat upon his mother's knee. A bullet caught the boy in the leg and he stumbled. Chaos knocked the boy out with a blow to the head. He'd never withheld death before, but something about the child caused him to hesitate as he looked into the blank blue eyes. Slave. His mind cried, thrall to another's will, and for one second he remembered his own twice dammed masters. Chained to the Planet and caged to a human's body and will.

The child slid bonelessly to the floor, and Chaos stepped over the small form, approaching the severed head again.

/_Demon, stay back!/_ Chaos let out a mirthless laugh as Ryquendë's desperate voice joined the Planet's in his mind.

"Or what, witch? Thou hast no power over me, and well thou knowest it." He felt her panic, and reveled in it. "Thou hadst diminished greatly_, Lady_." He mocked her. "Oh, how the mighty Cetra queen has fallen to resort to using a human child as her host." His claws sunk into the head, pulling her out too look into her eyes. "I hold the power to destroy thee, Cetra. I can wipe thee from the Planet's existence until not even a whisper of thee remains. However, I _might_ be persuaded to stay mine hand."

He felt her surprise, and was thankful the Planet could do no real harm to him. He was its servant yes, and he was forced to endure its constant presence, but his true lord and master Omega, still slept.

The witch was silent for a long moment, and Chaos smiled inwardly, knowing how much it irked her to bargain with such a lowly being as himself. /_What do you want of me, demon_?/

"Revenge," her interest was stirred. "As thou knowest no doubt, I am servant to the Planet and cannot allow the slaughter of the entire human race, but some, yes, some would not be impossible."

/_Why would you wish this demon, and why ask for my help?/_

"Why? Because they deserve to suffer, and not just for ancient sins, it was Shinra scientists who imprisoned me in this mortal body and Shinra scientists who experimented on thee also. Thou and I both know thou art powerful. It would not be hard for thee to raise an army. I want to bring down our wrath upon Shinra, and if many more then Shinra die in this war, then all the better."

He felt her satisfaction with his goals, and knew in this they were united. He was not going to reveal to her that his reason for choosing Shinra went deeper than the suffering their scientists had brought upon him, but rather what they had done to his host, a human.

A war against Shinra brought purpose and focus to his hate and desire for bloodshed, things he desperately needed if he didn't wish to murder the world. Despite his rage, he did not want to wipe all humans off the face of Gaia. It was dangerous entertaining thoughts of enlisting the witch's help, but he had a few ideas on how to keep her under control.

"If thou agrees to help me gather an army and bring war to Shinra, then I will in turn not only spare thy life, but find thee a new body, one thou canst inhabit alone."

/_I do not want any of these lowly humans_/ She snapped.

He huffed, already anticipated her arrogance. "I will bring thee a Cetra, the last full-blooded Cetra in the world."

/_Impossible! I have been searching for years; there are none left/_

"There is one, and it is a woman as I know thou wouldst prefer." If he'd not been connected to the Planet he would've never known of the woman, but he could hear her crying out to the Planet even now. She was in Shinra's capital, and dying, but he would be able to retrieve her in time.

/_What do I care, woman or man, it means nothing to me_/ She sniffed.

Chaos cocked his head, wondering for the first time exactly how insane the Cetra queen was. He knew none of the Cetra's mind magic, it was the rarest of all their magic's, but he thought if he drew on the Planet's power he could achieve what was needed.

He was thankful for the Planet's inability to understand human conversation. He took a moment to mask his thoughts, and drew forth the very real wish to see the Cetra queen obliterated, and reached out to request a bit of the Planet's power to help him in his goal. The Planet consented, and Chaos hid his glee at tricking Gaia.

Carefully he wound himself into the witch's mind, feeling her terror and disbelief as he slew through her defenses like paper. He nearly recoiled from the rot and decay festering within her mind. Within a few moments of searching, he realized Ryquendë was entirely insane and had some ridiculous idea of sailing the stars.

/_Thou art powerful, witch, but no Omega_/ He threw the crazed plans before her mind's eye, ripping them to shreds. /_How didst thou expect to accomplish this madness? Thou art not the Planet; thee wouldst have wrought thine own destruction along with all other life on this Planet! Even the souls in the Lifestream would have been lost. What of thy sons then lady? What good wouldst thy revenge have been if thou hadst destroyed all that was left of them?/_

He felt her confusion and anger. /_Who are you, demon, to speak to me in such a manner! I am queen of the stars, a goddess! And that human filth they injected with my cells is not my son!/_

He probed her mind again, realizing she had no memories of the time before her campaign for revenge. She'd truly forgotten her sons. Even he, who never cared for the Cetra's politics and the reasons behind the war, knew it had started because her husband had murdered her twin sons.

Chaos considered a moment. As Ryquendë was now, she was of little use to him, too dangerous in her insanity to be worth the risk. He did not know if what he planned was possible, but he didn't see how her mind could be any more damaged.

Deep, he searched, into the depth of her mind and memories until he had found the ones she'd repressed or merely forgotten over the centuries of madness, and pulled them violently into the forefront of her mind. He watched her rebel, twisting away as images and feelings long forgotten assaulted her. Chaos didn't know if it would be much help, but it was possible the inhabitation of a new independent body would stabilize her mind as well.

Chaos pulled out of the witch's mind, releasing his hold on the Planet's power, and ignoring its confusion as it sensed Ryquendë's continued existence. He waited for her to sort through the tide of information.

A scream ripped through his mind, and he realized it was Ryquendë's anguish lashing out at anything, everything within range. The windows shattered, and the birds began screaming in unison. Chaos heard a distant monster's roar as his knees buckled, and his claws tangled in his feathery hair. Finally it ended and Chaos let his jaw unclench, and rose to look upon the fallen head again.

/_Death, death, I will rend them limb from limb, tear out their hearts, cut out their eyes! I will burn the world! My babies, my beautiful boys, mother will avenge you. Mother will spill the world's blood and-/_

"Enough. If thou canst not get a hold of thy self, then thou art no use to me, witch. The one who killed thy sons is long dead."

/_And what of the human's who killed your people? Did they not return to the Planet long ago? And yet you too still desire revenge and suffering for your suffering_/

Chaos said nothing in reply, knowing it was all too true, yet unable to help it. He was trying to curb some of his hate. It no longer utterly consumed him, and he sent silent unheard thanks to his host for giving him a focus for his revenge. He swore to himself that it would end with Shinra; he would find the strength to put the rage aside, just one more war, just a little more human blood.

"If I bring thee the Cetra's body, there will be limits and rules thou wilt have to follow."

He could feel her eagerness for the Cetra, and her arrogant confidence in her ability to fool him. She would kill and keep killing. What Ryquendë needed was focus, not unlike himself.

"The Cetra woman would be a new body, and unlike thy previous one, not corrupted by thy dark magic. I image, with a strong mate thou couldst have new sons." He suggested slyly.

/_Nothing can replace my sons!/_ She snapped, but he could hear the interest beneath the words.

"Thou knowest thee wilt never enter the Promised Land, which means thou only hadst this existence, this life to live. Thy sons art lost to thee, but why not have more? Even when they pass on they can leave children and their children's children for thee."

He knew he had her. While he wasn't anxious to see the world populated by her children, they were preferable to humans, and a goal of children and a mate would help her focus on more than death. She would find some humans to rule when the dust of war settled, and a family, and while he wouldn't ever want to be the humans under her rule, he could care less as long as she was relatively satisfied. If she got out of control he could always kill her; that would please the Planet, so it would be a last resort.

/_There are no suitable mates for one such as I. I will not mate with a filthy human_/ She objected again.

"There are no other Cetra, true, but not all these human's are weak. What of the ones with the Lifestream in their bodies? They are more powerful than even the Cetra."

She seemed satisfied with this, as she made no other objections. /_Very well, we will fight together, demon, if you bring me the Cetra's body. I give you my word I will not bring ruin down upon this Planet or seek the destruction of all humans_/

Chaos smirked inwardly, amazed by how stupid she thought him. Her word? He'd be hard pressed to find something else of equal cheapness. "Thou wilt swear to me the ancient oaths." He felt her shock and panic. "If thou dost not swear, then I shall kill thee. I cannot trust thy word, witch."

_/Very well_/ Her anger whipped about him in a furious torrent. /_I will swear_/

Chaos had Ryquendë swear five unbreakable oaths in the ancient tongue: He made her swear to forgo all future and present plans to destroy the Planet. He bound her from ever building an army or bringing war against any humans but Shinra. He barred her from ever again using the perverted form of her mind magic, the enslaving of souls. She could only use mind magic for gentle persuasions and communicating long distances. He made her swear to never lift her hand or use any form of magic against his host Vincent or Sephiroth. Lastly he made her swear that after she received her new body, she would free him of his host, undoing the work of Lucrecia Crescent.

Ryquendë had not wanted to promise his freedom, knowing he would be more powerful without a human body holding him back, but she'd no choice if she didn't want to die. Chaos knew she had the power to free him. Once he had his own body he planned to court Vincent to their cause, and having assured protection for Vincent and Sephiroth against the witch would make it easier.

He knew he didn't need Vincent; the human was talented yes, but he would be more trouble than he was worth, as far as the war effort was concerned. However, Chaos wanted the human for his own reasons as well. He was fond of his host, even if Vincent was unlikely to return the affection. Chaos also needed his anchor by his side if he was going to war with humans; it would be all too easy to lose himself along the way, and he had no oaths to pull him back from visiting Armageddon on the human race.

….

There were some very distinct advantages to being a WEAPON, the cost for those advantages was immeasurable, but since he'd been forced to pay them already, Chaos was determined get what he could out of the deal. When he received his own body he would spend more time exploring these powers.

Ten minutes after leaving Nibelheim he was hovering above Midgar, seeking out the Cetra's location. He focused on her thrashing spirit, the woman was in agony, but it seemed to be an anguish of the heart as much as the body.

Chaos frowned as he scanned the city and discovered the woman in the Shinra building, this would create some problems. It would have been much simpler if he knew the Cetra's spell song for concealment. He was a demon now though, so there must be something he could do to hide himself.

The Cetra was located on one of the top floors, so without a better option, Chaos perched himself on the window ledge. Hopefully it wouldn't take long to find the woman; a vague image of mirrors or hidden eyes humans used to spy on each other, flashed through his mind. He searched Vincent's memory again: Video Cameras. He growled, this seemed problematic, but he wasn't willing to take the time to ascertain some alternative way to reach the woman. He wasn't comfortable leaving the witch for more than an hour, and wouldn't have even consented to that if the human child was not still unconscious and unable to leave with the witch's head.

Chaos wrapped his wings about himself, some instinctive sense moving them as he entered enemy headquarters. As his wings embraced him in the parody of a hug, a cloak of shadow formed about him, hiding him for human eyes. Chaos smirked, there were some benefits to the power Gaia had entrusted him with; she really should have chosen another vessel for that power.

The floor the Cetra was being kept on was a science laboratory. Chaos's nostrils flare and golden eyes dilated in rage. If he came across the cockroach Hojo he'd tear out his tongue, then break every single finger, or perhaps cut them off. He'd rip off the man's cock; humanity was detestable enough without such men able to breed. Chaos continued with his pleasant daydreams, anything to separate himself from Vincent's memories threatening to cripple him.

Chaos stopped before a cell door, knowing he'd located the Cetra woman. His eyes scanned over the electronic panel before simply ripping the heavy door off its hinges. The Cetra was hooked up to some sort of medical machine. The woman was unconscious, had possibly been unconscious for months, Chaos summarized. Her face was drawn and pale, chestnut waves fanning out on the pillow.

Chaos snatched up a medical clipboard, having to rely heavily on Vincent's memories as he was far removed from anything he'd know in his own life. Nothing he read made much sense though, he was having some trouble understanding the new language, and another person's memories were only able to do so much. He picked out the woman's name, Ifalna Faremis, and was fairly certain the woman had been shot and fallen comatose some years ago.

He threw down the clipboard, not able to discern anything else. He stepped up to the bed, pulling down the sterile smelling blankets before using his claws to quickly rip away the thin hospital gown. He ran a searching eye over the naked body, but didn't see any remaining wounds. He was no healer, so he could only assume the body would still function for the witch as it appeared the problem was in the woman's mind. If the woman was unsuitable, well there was still the half-blood girl. He'd kept her existence to himself, not seeing any reason for the witch to know of another Cetra's existence. He felt the girl's presence, whispering to the Planet, and if the full-blooded Cetra's body was unsuitable, he could easily collect the half-blood.

He wrapped two claws around the needle embedded in the woman's arm, and carefully pulled it free. Pulling the foul smelling sheet over the woman's limp body again, he scooped her into his arms.

….

Ifalna was still breathing when he stalked into the bedroom he'd left the witch and human child in. He was mildly relieved to see them both still there; it would have wasted precious time tracking them down if they'd escaped. He placed the body on the bed and collected Ryquendë off the floor, taking secret pleasure in having left her there like a dog patiently awaiting her master's return. Pity the witch was getting a new body and such treasured moments would not last.

/_She looks sickly_/

Chaos merely huffed in reply and settled the head next to the lifeless woman. The transfer was surprisingly uninspiring; he supposed mind magic didn't come with any impressive bursts of colors. Ryquendë's blue head suddenly crumbled to dust and the previously unanimated woman sat up. Slit brown eyes glared at Chaos before she tossed her head like a stallion, as if deciding he was beneath her notice.

As the witch found her feet, Chaos could tell the weakness of the Cetra's body had remained. He smirked, though he knew the witch would regain her power before long. While Ryquendë's spirit may have retained its potency, Chaos was positive the Cetra's body would never be able to harness the level of strength the witch's original body could. However, since Ryquendë's greatest power lay in magic rather than sword or bow, a Cetra's body was the best choice she could make as Cetra were always able to wield more magic then a human.

Unsteady legs halted before a bureau, the thin sheet was released and Ryquendë ran a critical eye over her new body. Her fingers traced three small scars on her chest, recognizing them as bullet wounds. Her lip curled in scorn, imperfection was unacceptable. When she was a little steadier she would sing the marks away, they simply would not do.

Her hands ran down her lean concaved stomach, noting the number of ribs visible, and sighed. She had some work to do. Dull brown eyes stared back at her, the only physical feature to transfer to this new body were her slit pupils, a sign of her dabbling in dark magic. She fingered brown curls, longing for her unrivaled silver mane.

Chaos snorted when the first magic the witch performed in her new body was an illusion spell. Brown hair melted into silver and brown eyes sharpened to slit gray, such vanity. Silver, brown what did it matter? Color seemed unimportant to him. He'd never seen a human's hair able to rival the glorious crimson of the Kagalbi women. The only interesting thing about human hair was its length. Kagalbi's feathery manes never reached past their shoulder blades. He approved of his host's hair, it was thick and long, just as a humans should be.

Chaos was tired of the witch's preening, and anxious to finally meet his host. "Dress thyself, witch, thou hast an oath to keep."

….

The ritual had been excruciatingly painful, but Chaos was willing to endure it again for such freedom. His wings flapped lazily behind him as he gazed upon the sleeping features of his former host. It was thrilling to gaze upon Vincent's face, knowing he'd occupied that body, shared that mind for twenty-two years but now breathed freedom. If Lucrecia Crescent were still alive he would have celebrated his first moments of liberation with taken the last of hers in every painful way he'd ever imagined.

"Why don't you kill the filthy human now?" Ryquendë looked haughtily down at Vincent. It seemed to be her permanent expression and Chaos found it unbelievably vexing. She was the embodiment of everything his people hated in the Cetra.

"I shall keep him, as I already told thee. He could be of use in the war effort."

She looked unconvinced, but swept over to toe her slave with a bare foot, looking disgusted that she had touched the human with her skin. The human child was still unconscious; Chaos wondered briefly how the boy would deal with his sudden freedom. He'd never seen a person released from a soul enslavement, it could prove interesting, though the boy might become unstable and kill himself. It was a possibility since the witch said he'd been enslaved for four years, and his memories of life before could be too distant.

Chaos hated humans as a rule, but any form of enslavement grated upon him. It was the reason he'd bound Ryquendë's mind magic. An army of humans enslaved to Ryquendë's will would have lead to swift victory, but it would be an empty revenge. His people believed in honorable battle, and an army of mindless thralls would've been against his people's honor as well as his own personal revulsion.

Gold eyes lingered on the human boy again, deciding to do what he could to free the child from the witch's clutches. It would take more than the sudden freedom from a soul bound, he would be vulnerable to her manipulations and she would doubtless attempt to keep him under her persuasion magic. Perhaps Vincent would help the boy, Chaos knew nothing about human children and wasn't eager to learn. Helping the boy with freedom was one thing, letting an attachment form would not be prudent.

He rose gracefully to his feet, perching like a mighty bird of prey preparing to dive, before stepping forward and picking up the unconscious human child from the floor. The witch gave him a disgusted look as he passed.

Chaos placed the small body in the adjacent bedroom, pulling a dusty blanket over him. His claws raked through the wild hair. The child should let it grow long like his former host's. Dried blood matted the hair in the back; he supposed he'd been too rough with the child, but the human child had been channeling the witch at the time.

Chaos chanted a simple healing spell in the ancient tongue, one of the few spells he knew. He'd have to watch the witch and see if he couldn't add a few more to his arsenal. His claws prodded the injury again; the swelling was steadily retreating now. Chaos returned to Vincent, confident the boy would awaken soon.

It was amazing how much Vincent could sleep through, Chaos thought as he settled on the ground next to his former host. It was not a normal sleep, none that lased twenty-two years was, but he thought Vincent would have waken when Chaos was released from his body.

He bent over the prone form, examining Vincent again. Chaos was thankful he'd come to terms with the unexpected connection he felt towards Vincent. He wondered if Vincent would hate him, he had been unbearably cruel when first been imprisoned in his host's body.

His eyes narrowed, he may have accepted his strange affection for the human, but he wasn't going to spend time worrying over a human's feelings for him. There was no doubt Vincent would hate him, and like all humans before him, think him a monster. He didn't know why these thoughts bothered him so; it would hardly be the first human to call him such, but a part of him dreaded the inevitable rejection. He knew what Vincent would say, having read it in the human's mind before. Vincent loathed the demons inside his head, but then Vincent hated himself as well, and called himself monster.

Vincent could also be surprisingly accepting and forgiving for a human, though he tended to save most of that forgiveness for the detestable Lucrecia. One does not become a Turk if they are squeamish. As gentle as Vincent could be, at times he was also utterly ruthless. Well, he had been before Lucrecia, she and Hojo ruined him.

Chaos admired his former host's efficiency in killing. He'd never encountered a creature who killed with so little emotion as Vincent. Chaos embraced violence and war, but had always associated them with passion and the ecstasy of the hunt, adrenalin pumping through his veins, setting him on fire. How could battle ever be cool precision? But Vincent made it such, and Chaos thought it beautiful as the mysterious and exotic are beautiful. He wanted to see Vincent kill, not in a reflection of the act, as the memories were, but with his own eyes.

As Chaos reminded himself of the differences between Vincent and ordinary humans, he felt more confident. While Vincent would no doubt treat him with revulsion and loathing in the beginning, it might be possible for the human to see him as more than a demon. Either way he was only a human, Chaos told himself, but knew it was more than that. He'd spent twenty-two years inside Vincent's body and mind, and with nothing familiar in this new world and no family or Kagalbi, Vincent was the closest thing he had to kin.

Chaos had grown up surrounded by family and clan, they were the foundation of the Kagalbi, and to have none now was unimaginable. Revenge had been his family, grief his clan, and hate his people the last two thousand years, but he didn't want to let them control him any longer. Like an ancient oak tree he was, worn down by his loss, his roots had been pulled up from beneath him, and if he did not want to fall into darkness then he needed new roots. He made Vincent his root; he expected a long winter ahead but he would hold on until the spring rains came, and if they never came then he supposed the darkness would at least lead to madness, and in madness the festering wound in his heart wouldn't plague him any longer.

"Wake up Vincent Valentine." Chaos's deep voice intoned the words slowly, unaccustomed to the language's strange syllables. He'd heard the human common tongue in Vincent's memories, but his mouth never formed the sounds before.

How peculiar, the human's body had flown half-way around the world, endured a battle, and had a demon exorcised from it, yet the simple command was all it took to wake the man while he'd slept on oblivious to all else. Long, dark lashed fluttered open to reveal blood-red eyes. Chaos blinked down at the eyes; Vincent's eyes had been a rich brown the last time the man looked in a mirror. Chaos knew he should back off, awakening to find a demon hovering over you could terrify anyone, but he stubbornly, and perhaps childishly, refused to move, determined to see what Vincent would do.

Jeweled eyes blinked at him in confusion for a moment before a metal-clawed hand whipped up to wrapped about Chaos's throat. He supposed he deserved that, and since the metal was not trying to crush his windpipe he made no move to remove it even though it made him feel oddly naked and vulnerable. He could free himself before Vincent was able to kill him if he needed, but the cool metal on his exposed throat caused his instincts to scream. His eyes must be glowing like the sun now, lit with the adrenalin singing through his veins, but still he did not move.

"Who are you?" Vincent's voice was heavy with disuse.

It took a moment to puzzle out the words, before he was able to carefully string his own together. "I am Chaos." Vincent's face showed no recognition and Chaos realized he'd never introduced himself to his host before. He licked his lips, feeling a heavy nervousness in his belly. "Thy woman, Lucrecia, rope, no, bind, bound me to thee, like slave?" He cocked his head a little in the metal embrace, stumbling over the words.

"Lucrecia? What?" Chaos could hear the human's heart accelerate. "Is she here?"

"Thou forget?" Chaos asked. "She gone long, many winters." Vincent's lips parted slightly, his eyes shifting away for a moment, the only signs of his distress. Chaos found himself once again amazed at the human's control over his expression. It seemed impossible to show that little emotion, when Chaos_ knew_ how much the treacherous woman meant to Vincent.

"I forgot for a moment." Too anyone else the admission might not have meant anything, but Chaos knew Vincent must be struggling under newly crushed hope. The human seemed to forcible pull himself out of whatever dark thoughts called to him. "What are you doing here and what do you know of Lucrecia?"

"Thou remember experiments? What remember?" The metal claw tightened around his throat for a moment before abruptly letting go.

Chaos took the opportunity to sit back, rearranging his long legs Indian style. Vincent sat up as well, eyes darting about the room quickly, assessing. Red eyes narrowed as they caught sight of the witch, looking bored as she flipped through some science journal she must have dug out of the basement, but Chaos's knew she would be listening closely.

Chaos pointed to the witch, "Ryquendë."

"_Queen_ Ryquendë of the Cetra," she corrected in flawless common tongue. She'd spent the last four years among the outside world, no doubt knowing more than Vincent and himself with their outdated information. Several busy months lay ahead of him if he wanted to catch up.

"Thou witch," he said with a smirk. "Where land and people thou queen of?"

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner, filth!" Grey eyes swirling like a tempest, raging with her furry.

Chaos just laughed, it was amusing to see her lose her haughty coolness. His face became serious again as he turned back to Vincent who was watching them both warily, sharp eyes missing nothing, yet Chaos sensed the human's confused, though the man hid it well.

Feeling the demon's stare, Vincent turned his gaze to regard the being before him again. The creature called himself Chaos, and appeared to have some human intelligence, though perhaps a little slow, the golden eyes were human but for their unnatural glow. They scorched like fire, and Vincent wondered if the creature's skin would burn to the touch. The being was of human form for the most part. Vincent had glimpsed sharp fangs, the nails were sharp as claws, and the creature had some strange head dress which might have been hair, not to mention the two enormous leathery wings sprouting out of its back. It was no monster Vincent had ever heard of, and was too human like for his comfort.

An air of malevolence hung about the woman. He did not trust her, her eyes were cruel. He wished he had his gun on him, the demons were screaming about blood and murder. He just wanted to return to his punishment. Lucrecia was dead; he'd become a monster, and lost the will to live long ago.

"I do not wish to speak of the experiments or Hojo and Lucrecia." He finally answered the creature's question.

Chaos's pressed his lips into a thin line. Vincent was withdrawing, he could feel it. He understood the affliction which caused Vincent to sleep for over twenty years, he himself had spent two thousand years trying to forget, but running away was never going to heal this anguish. You couldn't escape the pain forever, it caught up with you eventually, and Chaos knew Vincent would never forgive himself he let this chance at revenge pass him by. Vincent had already lost his chance to take revenge on Hojo before, lost his chance to raise his woman's child as his son, Chaos wasn't going to let Vincent watch his last chance slipped past as well.

"I speak than. I do not speak these words, this language, well though. It is not my tongue, I would ask witch, but I not trust her with my words."

"Demon you are too stupid to make sense in any language. Your heathen people just grunted at each other like beasts-" Chaos was across the room, and had his claws digging into the witch's neck before she could finish the vile words.

"Thou wilt not speak of my people again, witch, or I will rip out thy throat. Thou forget I can kill thee whenever I want." Chaos released the woman's damaged throat and she bent over coughing, before getting out a healing spell.

"How dare you lay a hand on me, savage!" Chaos turned his back on her. "I am the _queen_, don't you turn your back on me, demon!"

"And I am WEAPON." Chaos spat back at her. "It is thee who wilt learn thy place, witch."

"You will regret this, beast. My wrath is terrible and I _never _forget."

Chaos ignored her and settled back onto the floor next to the guarded human. He sighed inwardly as he considered how difficult the human's tongue was proving to be.

An echo of rancorous voices raked against his mind, and he immediately recognized them as the demons he'd previously shared his host body with. He reached toward the mutinous voices until he brushed against Vincent's mind, the path was as easy to follow as a well-used lane, so often had he traveled his host's mind.

/_Vincent_/ He called, and felt the jolt of Vincent's mind.

/_Demon?/_

Chaos was momentarily disappointed Vincent had chosen to call him such, before he realized Vincent thought he was talking to one of the other demons in his head. He felt Vincent's confusion; none of them had ever used his given name. The other demons sensed his invasion and recognized him.

/_This human is ours, Planet's whore! How dare you crawl back here to usurp our power!/_ Hellsmasker always had such an irritating voice.

/_Silence Hellsmasker or I will teach thee another lesson in respect_/

/_You have no power here, slave_/ Hellsmasker gloated.

/_Thou art wrong, I have all the power now I have mine own body_/ Chaos felt the demon's disbelief and scorn a moment before he forcibly thrust all the demons down into the depths of Vincent's mind, they would not bother them for some time.

The sudden silence was alive with Vincent's confusion and relief. /_Who are you?/_

/_Chaos_/

Jewel eyes which had drifted shut, shaped open again to stare at him.

"Yes it is I. I do not learn human tongue yet, speak in mind easier." He felt the witch shift behind him, and knew he'd succeeded in vexing her. /_Wilt thou speak with me, Vincent?/_

He perceived Vincent's discomfort, the human's displeasure with the invasion warred with the questions he was now desperate to have answered. If Vincent knew exactly how open his every thought and feeling were to Chaos, he would never consent, but the Turk had no experience with the mind magic's.

/_Very well_/

/_Thank-you. I shall tell thee something of myself first. I am called Chaos, it is not my birth name, but it will suffice. Twenty-two years ago the enslaver, Lucrecia, tore me from the Lifestream where the Planet had placed me after Gaia forged me into one of her WEAPON'S. The enslaver bound me to thy body, I do not know why the enslaver committed this atrocity against us, but now I have achieved my freedom and an independent body_/

/_Lucrecia….she would not have…could not have done …./_

/_The enslaver is a vile woman. She treated her son worse than an animal. When a person hurts their own child they are stoned until dead; that is my people's way. There is no forgiveness for hurting a child of thy clan_/

He expected to hear Vincent defend his lovers' actions, but there was only silence and a feeling of shame, grief, and unexpectedly, anger against Lucrecia. But Chaos supposed he shouldn't be so surprised, Vincent loved Lucrecia, but he'd recognized what she was doing as inherently wrong. He sensed Vincent's desire to speak of something else, and decided to let the matter of Lucrecia lie for now, there was nothing to be done, the woman was long dead.

/_I do not know the nature of these other demons within thee, only that they are not like me. They have speech, but are creatures of death and hate. I know the cockroach, Hojo, placed them within thee_/

Vincent didn't seem ready comment.

/_It is time to make the cockroach suffer for his sins. The witch and I will bring war to Shinra and the cockroach. Thou shouldst be there when we march into Midgar, to take revenge on the cockroach and make him scream a thousand screams_/

/_No, I must return to my punishment_/

/_It has never been punishment, only escape. Thou didst not want to face thy imagined sins-/_

/_They are not imagined_!/ Vincent protested.

/_Thou art right, they are not. Terrible things happened, and many sins were indeed committed, but not by thee. It was not thee who offered thy child as a sacrifice on the altar of science. It was not thee who experimented and tortured an innocent boy for years_/

/_What do you mean years? Lucrecia's child died in childbirth_/

/_That is what the cockroach told thee. While thou wert paying for thy supposed sins, I was listening to the boy's screams as they cut him open and pumped the Planet's blood into him_/ Chaos felt Vincent's raging horror and guilt. /_Thou shouldst not blame thyself for believing Hojo. Thou wert not in thy right mind, and who would be while the cockroach torturing them? While thou couldst have taken the child and raised him as thy own, thou did not. He was not thy responsibility, thou didst not fail what was not thine to protect in the first place. The child's suffering was terrible, but it was not thy fault_ /

/_No, it was my fault. As you said, I could have taken her son away. I failed him just as I failed her. I need to return to my punishment, I cannot bear-/_

Chaos felt his frustration rising, he'd tried being patient and understanding, but it didn't seem to be working. /_If thou truly wants to atone for that loathsome woman's sins, then thou shouldst fight with us and stop Shinra and the cockroach from experimenting on other innocents_/

/_How can I help anyone when I am a monster? I would have only hurt Sephiroth-/_

/_What makes thee a monster, Vincent? Tell me_/

/_The demons_/ Vincent answered incredulously.

/_Anything else?/_ Chaos pressed.

/_Is that not enough?/_

/_So the demons are what makes thou a monster? If thou agrees to fight for us then I will free thee from thy demons this very hour_/ It would be draining, but he had the power now he had his own body.

Vincent was still silent though, then, /_I cannot fight with you until I know more of your goals and the woman_/

Chaos scoffed /_Hast thou suddenly because virtuous, Turk? However, if thou wishes to know I will tell thee, though thou might not like what thou hears, at least there will be no surprises later_/

/_This will be a war of revenge. Blood will flow in rivers. Ryquendë says Shinra rules all the world save Wutai, and they are at war there too. Shinra has enhanced soldiers of inhuman strength, and no morals and few lines they will not cross as thou knowest well, Turk. The goal of the war is the overthrow of Shinra; new governments will take its place. I have no interest in the rule of humans, but I do not doubt Ryquendë will set herself up as queen over the choicest piece of land. Mako drilling will be stopped; it kills the Planet, even a fool should be able to understand this, but it seems Shinra is worse than a fool, for their eyes are open and still they drain the Planet's blood_/

Vincent was silence for a moment before, /_Hojo is mine to kill_/

Chaos smirked /_He is thine_/

/_Tell me of the woman, Ryquendë. I do not trust her_/

/_Nor shouldst thou. Thou might know her better by the name Shinra gave her: Jenova_/

/_Jenova? The name of the project Lucrecia and her son were part of?/_

Chaos told him all he knew of the Jenova Project, before explaining exactly what kind of creature Ryquendë is. /_She is indeed one of the Ancient's, the most powerful ever to walk Gaia, a queen among them. She is also insane and brought about the destruction of her race_/

/_And you want to set her at the head of an army?/_ Vincent asked, alarmed.

/_Pieces of her mind have healed, though it is impossible to tell how much. She is by no means what I would call sane, and she will kill whoever gets in her way -not so unlike Shinra- but she has swore an Unbreakable Vow in the ancient tongue to never bring war upon any humans but Shinra_/

Vincent's doubt was palpable.

/_Vows spoken in the ancient tongue _cannot_ be broken, or she will be punished by Magic itself and the Planet. She has also swore a vow not to harm thee or Sephiroth_/

/_This war will happen, Vincent, thou canst either be involved and attain thy revenge, or thou canst let yet another chance pass thee by. I understand the desire to hide inside thy own head; I spent two-thousand years floating in the Lifestream, trying to run from the past_/ He could feel Vincent's shock and it reflected his own; he'd not meant to share anything personal. He swallowed and pushed on. /_Burying thyself alive in a coffin cannot undo the past though. There is still something thou canst do to help Sephiroth: Kill Hojo_/

Vincent's only reply was a nod, but Chaos felt his budding resolve.

Vincent's brow furorred again, /_How are you planning to raise an army against Shinra if they rule the world?_/ Blood-red eyes swept over Chaos, and he felt the silent thought: humans were never going to sign up to fight under Chaos, a demon.

But Chaos just smiled slyly, "Ryquendë."

Vincent hummed.

…

Chaos led Vincent outside, it was the first time the ex-Turk had seen the sunlight in twenty-two years, and it took him a long while before he was able to endure the light with only a hand to shade sensitive eyes. They stopped before one of the great Nibel firs.

Chaos placed a palm on the rough bark. "I have not walked under the sacred eaves of Lugash for two-thousand years."

"Lugash?" Vincent's soft voice drew Chaos from his dark thoughts.

Chaos looked back over his shoulder at Vincent, gold eyes regarding the human a long moment. /_Lugash was a goddess of my people. She is the protector of all growing things. We believe her husband Morkal, the Watcher of Gaia's tears (water), asked his Lady to pick out a tree from which he could build her a house to rest from her many labors. It is said she chose the Nibel fir, for it is the hardiest of all trees upon Gaia. The Nibel fir is a sacred tree to my people, to cut one down was to cut out of piece of the goddess's heart_/

Vincent stared at him for a long moment and Chaos wished he'd not broken the mind link after finishing the tale, but he knew it was a gross violation of privacy to read Vincent's every thought, so he restrained himself from probing.

When Vincent finally spoke again Chaos could not contain a grimace at the question. "Do your people dwell in these mountains? I have never heard rumor of them before."

/_At one time we dwelt on the high cliffs of these mountains, but we passed into memory long ago_/ Chaos looked away. /_We must begin; I want to be finished before sundown. It is not wise to meddle in the magic of demons when the shadows reign_/

"What do you need me to do?"

"Kneel here," Chaos pointed to a small, barren patch of earth, "and take off thy clothing." He gestured to his upper body. Vincent's face was blank, and he did not move to obey. Chaos sighed, "I paint runes in blood on thy chest."

Vincent gave a tight nod and slowly began removing his red, tattered cap and black leather vest. Chaos drew a large circle in the dirt, closing Vincent in, before scratching runes along its edge.

The runes were of the Cetra's design, as was the ritual itself. It was similar to the one Ryquendë had used to remove him from Vincent's body. Rune magic became popular in the later days of the Cetra's rule, and Chaos had seen many Cetra perform this exact ritual as they sought to free loved ones from Ryquendë's soul enslavement, none were successful, but they always tried even if there was no hope.

Vincent knelt, half-naked in the center of the circle, dark hair rustling in the mountain breeze. Scars crisscrossed his chest, the gold gauntlet drawing the eye as it flashed in the sun's rays. Perverted black lines twisted into meaningless numbers and symbols, marred the pale throat; Hojo liked to brand the bodies he brought to hell, as if by giving them a tattoo he could claim them like a god. Vincent looked fierce and painfully vulnerable, boldly offering his body to a demon's honor.

Chaos finished the circle's runes and joined Vincent at its center, kneeling before him. He cut his left forearm open with a claw. Dipping his finger into the blood, he began tracing more runes on Vincent's bare skin. Vincent held perfectly still, but Chaos heard the pounding of his pulse.

/_When Ryquendë fought The Great War, the one that destroyed the Cetra, she used a perverted form of mind magic to enslave her armies to her will_/ Chaos voice drew the jeweled eyes to his face. /_It was the darkest magic, and none could find a way to free the thralls, but many tired. When I fought with the free Cetra I saw many rituals used, this was one of them. It is a good ritual with clean magic, but many others are not. When a person's husband or child's soul is enslaved to another, there was nothing their loved ones would not sacrifice to free them_/

Chaos opened another cut in his arm before continuing the runes. /_There is blood-magic, and then there is dark blood-magic. All blood-magic requires a sacrifice; I am sacrificing my physical well-being by cutting and drawing out my blood_/

/_But in dark blood-magic the sacrifice is more sinister; sometimes it even demands a life. Many terrible things are done in war, and that kind of desperation creates monsters. I saw mothers sacrifice their own children to free their husbands, only to discover there was no freedom possible. Sometimes it would drive them mad and they would run naked though the streets screaming and tearing out their hair. I saw a man who had killed his father to free his son's soul, fling himself from the battlements too his death. Once I saw a mother who'd killed her sister to free her child turn her knife upon her remaining children and slaughter them all before taking her own life_/

/_I could not let such darkness visit a race again. I hate humans for what they did to my people, they slaughtered them like animals, every man, woman, and child, but not even humans deserve such an end as the Cetra suffered. I bound the witch in an unbreakable oath, she can never use the dark mind magic's again, but she is still dangerous. She cannot touch thy mind without punishment, but she will use her powers of persuasion to turn others to her will. She can archive nothing if the seeds of her desires are not already in their hearts, but there is darkness in all hearts, she need only seek it out_/

/_I tell thee these things so thou art prepared, and go with thy eyes open. I shall watch like the mother hawk watches her chicks, but even the great huntress can let a snake slip through and snatch one of her babes when she is hunting. I can and shall kill her if I think she is seeking to bring death for the sake of death, but I care little for human lives, which is why I share this with thee, a human. If thou judge her wrath too great, thou must come to me and tell me before it runs away from us like a wildfire_/

Chaos finished the last runes and finally raised his eyes to meet Vincent's piecing stare. He couldn't fathom why he'd shared so much, but there was something about Vincent's silence that drew him in. He was lonely, he realized again. He had not spoken so freely since that last day with his brothers and fathers. It was dangerous to speak so openly, yet he trusted Vincent, even though he was a human. He knew Vincent as he'd never known another outside his family, and he knew Vincent was a decent person. Not good, he could be ruthless; he was a Turk and killed without remorse, but he still had a soul despite that.

What Chaos said was true as well; he didn't think he could handle Ryquendë alone. She was more intelligent than him. So cunning; she'd been a ruler before, and led armies into battle, and she had no equal in magic. He hoped she would embrace the idea of children and a mate, it would steady her. She wouldn't be planning the death of the Planet if she had something she wanted to keep alive on it. But he also meant what he said about humans. He wouldn't care if she slaughtered a massive amount; the streets could run red as long as their race never descended into the madness that assaulted the Cetra in their last days . That kind of desperation broke something in people that should never be broken.

"I understand," Vincent's smooth voice cut into Chaos's thoughts.

He looked into the glowing eyes. Yes, Vincent understood, and could handle Ryquendë's games far better than him. He was a warrior, not a courtier.

Chaos broke the gaze and stepped out of the circle. "Whatever happens, thou canst not leave the circle; it is there for thy protection."

Vincent nodded silently.

Chaos called Hellsmasker forth first, using the ancient tongue. A shadowy malice was ripped from Vincent's body and thrown out of the circle. Vincent was not able to hold back a scream as the pain bent his body double, but it was over as quickly as it began. Hellsmasker threw himself at Vincent, snarling as he tried to take out all his hate upon his former host.

Vincent's eyes widened as he watched the demon race towards him, but Hellsmasker crashed into an invisible barrier before reaching Vincent, the circle runes keeping him out. The crazed demon found a new target in Chaos, but Chaos blasted the spirit before he could reach him. The longer the demon was outside a human, the weaker it became, and after a few more tries at Chaos Hellsmasker's shadow dissolved into nothing, returning to the Planet.

Eleven more times Chaos repeated the ceremony, one for each of the demons inhabiting Vincent's body. Some were weak, lesser demons who never would've had the strength to fight off the other demons for control of the host body; others were stronger and put up more of a struggle before the Planet took them back.

Chaos was exhausted by the end of the ritual. His wings wrapped themselves about him, feeling the emotional and physical toil the ritual had cost him. Vincent cleaned himself up quickly, and pulled on his clothes again before coming to kneel before Chaos where he'd collapsed on the ground. Vincent stared at him wordlessly for a moment before his rich voice intoned a simple Thank-you.

The side of Chaos's mouth twitched up in a smile, but he didn't have the energy to speak. Reluctantly he moved to stand, but was shocked when Vincent's arm coil about his waist, helping him up. His wings gave a startled flutter before folding up and disappear from sight. Chaos was mildly surprised with their disappearance, but too tired and shocked to expend any more energy. He knew they would come back if he needed them, but their absence left him unbalanced and exposed. He'd been born with his wings, and never before parted from them. He supposed it was a useful ability to hide them at will, but wished they'd chosen a more convenient moment to display it.

Vincent did not release him when he found his feet. Chaos sensed the other's awkwardness, and he imagined it felt as long for Vincent since he'd touched another as it did for Chaos. Two-thousand years was a long time to never feel a touch.

The last being he remembered touching was the last remaining Kagalbi but himself. She was from a different clan, and he'd not known her well; she kept to herself as their small group of survivors fled. She'd been the last too died, besides him. She slit her own throat, but it was badly done, her hand no doubt shaking. It was a slow death. Her weeping had woken him, and he'd held her as she choked on blood. That was the last time he'd been touched. The Cetra went out of their way to avoid even standing beside him. He realized he'd internalized their revulsion more then he'd thought.

Something wet slipped down his cheek and his whole body shuttered. His was crying. Over a touch. Weariness dragged at his bones, corroding his mind with fog. He was just so tired. Gaia, he was crying like a child; he was so ashamed. Vincent realized something was wrong when Chaos bit his lip to keep a chocked sob from escaping, and released him immediately. Chaos covered his mouth with a claw, and turned his back on the human, shamed by his weakness.

There was an awkward moment when Chaos struggled to keep himself under control, and Vincent stood silently at his back. Finally Chaos was able to swallow back the tears. He took a moment to wipe his face clean, before finding the courage to face the human again.

Vincent didn't say anything, and while Chaos hoped he wasn't offended, he was too tired to come up with an excuse for his breakdown; he wasn't about to expose himself by sharing the truth. They walked on in silence, but Vincent made no move to touch him now which he was both thankful for and disappointed in.

Chaos made it within sight of the mansion before his vision began to darken and he stumbled. He felt raw as Vincent slid an arm about his waist again, as if someone had taken a cattail to his soul and stripped him bare. His head lulled, and he had to rest it on Vincent's shoulder, no doubt assaulting him with his mass of crimson hair. He thought he slurred an 'I am sorry,' and maybe said something about being tired, but he couldn't tell for sure, and whether it came out in the right language was questionable. He couldn't afford to be this week, not with the witch running lose. He had to watch her, and check on the human boy; he needed to tell Vincent about the boy...

"The child…" he didn't have the energy for these human words. /_In the other bedroom is a human child. The witch was using him as a vessel for her mind. She bound him in a soul bound, but now she must release him…_/ He paused as he stumbled. Vincent's metal claw joined the other arm in keeping him up, but he could tell Vincent was listening closely now, so he continued. /_He should be sleeping, but I need thee to check on him. I had to knock him out, he attacked me_/ He felt ridiculous, trying to justify himself, but kept going. /_I healed him, he should be fine. Have the witch wait until I am awake to free him though. He's been a slave for years, and I think he might harm himself, or let the witch bind him in some other way if someone doesn't stop her_/

"I'll take care of it." Vincent's low voice whispered in his ear, or maybe it wasn't his ear, but his head was resting on Vincent's shoulder so it felt like it.

Chaos moaned as his legs wholly gave out on him. He couldn't even voice a protest as Vincent hauled him into his arms like a child, or a human woman.

/_It is well my wings are not out, that would have been awkward_/ He felt Vincent's amusement and silent agreement. He'd passed out completely by the time Vincent reached the doors, carrying his limp form.

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

Ifalna Faremis- Cannon has her die saving Aerith in the escape attempt from Shinra Tower and Hojo, but this story has her surviving the gunshot wounds she'd been inflicted with. Hojo kept her alive to experiment on.

The insperiation for Chaos's background started when I read _A Song Upon Ancient Winds_ by Vinvalen. Her work is some of the most beautiful work in the fandom:

http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2318015/vinvalen


	3. Cloud's Liberation

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 3: Cloud's Liberation

Cloud opened groggy eyes feeling a dull throbbing in his skull. His hand snaked around to probe the back of his head. He felt disoriented and…alone. His Lady! He bolted up in bed panic lanced blood surging through him. She was there, but not. Her presence was faint. He didn't understand, couldn't grasp….he needed His Lady to tell him what to feel and do as she always did. Why had she abandoned him , how had he failed her?

His growing terror was suddenly muffled when he felt her beloved presence slip into his mind, but there was a new distance between them. A bridge -he knew instinctively he would never be able to cross- rose between them and he despaired.

/_Hush little Weapon_/ She scolded. /_Settle yourself, you need to be stronger. I did not spend four years forging you for you to fall apart over such a little thing. I am still your Lady and you will come to me. Now_/

Cloud was about to throw off his covers and rush to His Lady's side when he realized he wasn't alone in the room. He cursed himself for a fool, what would His Lady say at his carelessness? A man –no, not a man— was lying beside him on the bed. Crimson feathers framing the head like a crown. Cloud's eyes widened and he wished His Lady was there to tell him what he should do with this creature. It appeared to be sleeping, its chest rising and falling gently, but Cloud was not about to trust an unknown so easily. His eyes traced the claws folded over the creature's chest. Not human.

Cloud's hand reached forward of its own volition; he felt adrift and out of control. He expected His Lady to come and curb the childish impulse, but she'd withdrawn from his mind, now only a distant shadow. His fingers brushed the creature's strange skin. It was harder than a humans, he could feel the strength in it. Smooth silvery skin slid beneath his fingers as he traced the creature's cheekbone. It was both soft and tough as a serpent's skin. The setting sun's rays caught in the skin's oddly gray pigment turning it to glinting silver. If the creature were not breathing Cloud would have taken it for a carved statue in that moment. It was mysterious and weirdly alluring, he wondered if some ancient magic was woven into the creature's skin to entrap the wayward mind. It should have been ugly with gray skin, deformed lines cutting into its mouth, and cruel claws for fingers, but it was not.

Suddenly feeling a second presence in the room Cloud's eyes snapped up, roving wildly until he spotted the silent watcher seated in the sun's shadow. Blood-red eyes were starring at the creature on the bed, just as Cloud had a moment before. The face was utterly blank and Cloud instinctively knew the man was dangerous. He'd been around men like this one before, but they all paled in comparison. None of the AVALANCHE fighters sent his instincts tingling as this man did. Elfé was deadly, but there was a weariness hanging about her that sapped the life from her eyes and smiles.

The man's eyes pulled away from the resting creature and caught Cloud's stare. The boy's mind automatically tried to hide behind His Lady, but she was not there and he had no idea what to do. What would she want him to do?

/_Lady_/ He called desperately, needing her guidance, but there was no answer. Cloud could not remember a time when he'd been alone like this. A part of him knew he had not always been with His Lady, but His Lady had taken the memories away, hiding them in his mind. She'd made him strong, yet he did not feel so strong now. He only felt alone and confused.

"What is your name, child?" The man asked.

"Lee Talahali," he knew this at least. He'd never been ashamed of his name, His Lady had given it to him, and he loved it as he loved her. Taking courage, he focused on His Lady's command. She wanted him to come to her, she would make everything well again as she always did.

He slipped from the bed, keeping a wary eye on the man whose red eyes never left him. He took a last glance at the creature on the bed; the light had shifted breaking the spell and taking the strange enchantment with it. Cloud furrowed his brow, the creature seemed vaguely familiar now, a memory wiggling at the back of his mind. The demon had threatened His Lady! His Lady hated the creature and wanted him to kill the beast…but what should he do now? His Lady had not given him any instructions, Cloud felt the walls closing in again, trapped in his helplessness. He didn't know what to do or feel, he needed to find His Lady!

Cloud turned away and quickly made for the door, desperate for His Lady. The man was suddenly blocking his path, "You should lie down again."

Cloud hesitated; the man was between him and the door. Blue eyes studied the wicked looking gauntlet on the man's arm as he deliberated what to do. He was not used to choice and decisions, he felt like a helpless babe. "Please, I need to use the bathroom. "

"Very well, I shall accompany you."

Cloud shifted on his feet, what should he say? What would His Lady do? A strange nostalgia flowed over him with the question, he thought he'd asked it before, but of someone else? He knew His Lady did not like him thinking about a time before her, so he quickly pushed the feeling away. The man was silently holding the door for him, and not knowing what else to do, he followed.

/_Where are you little vessel?/_ His Lady's voice, oh so welcome!

/_My Lady, a man is here and I do not know what to do. Please tell me your will, so I may accomplish it_/

He felt His Lady's annoyance. /_Must I do everything for you, useless boy_!/

"I'm sorry!" He realized a moment too late he'd spoken aloud, the man turned to look back at him. He didn't have to struggle for an explanation though, as His Lady stepped into the hallway. He knew it was her from the sudden tide of comfort and strength sweeping over him as her mind took control his again.

She was so beautiful! He should rejoice in His Lady's new body, but he couldn't shake the terrible realization that with her own body she would no longer need his. Would she throw him away? He couldn't bear it, couldn't bear to be separated from her. He was nothing without her. He didn't want to be all alone.

He dashed forward, prostrating himself before His Lady. "My Lady, command me, I am yours. I beg you, have mercy, do not send me from your presence."

"You may look upon my face vessel." His Lady was so generous! Cloud gazed up at her in adoration, marveling at her beauty. "Of course you are mine. I made you and named you, your life and soul are mine to command, Weapon. You will continue to serve my will, as you always have. Now go and fetch me a basin of warm water and prepare your Queen her meal."

"Yes my Lady, your wish is my command, but..." Cloud hesitated, knowing he should never question His Lady, yet fearing to be parted from her and experience the emptiness again.

"But what? How dare you question me, slave! Know your place." The hammer of His Lady's rage fell upon him, jerking a strangled groan from his lips as his hands clenched into tight fists, ridding out the pain.

"That's enough, witch." The dark man broke in, and Cloud felt His Lady's wrath lift from him. She seemed poised to throw the power of her anger at the man, but suddenly stopped.

The man's face showed neither fear nor awe in the face of His Lady's power. Cloud was confused. His Lady never withheld her wrath – it was magnificent in its unrivaled strength– she loved punishing and rejoiced in cries of pain. It was a terrible failing she found in him, that he did not share in this pleasure. He'd tried many times, but the screams of a body writhing under his power left him feeling empty.

"You dare question me, human? This is my slave and I shall do with him as I like." His Lady hissed.

"So easily you forget the vows you swore to Chaos?" The man's voice revealed nothing.

"What do you know of them, human? Nothing! Your inferior mind could never understand. You have no business speaking of what you do not comprehend. Get back to your master,_ dog_, and leave me with what is mine."

"Witch, I grow tired of thy arrogance." A new voice cut through the throbbing tension.

Cloud peaked up through his lashes to watch the creature step into the corridor. His eyes were like molten gold; Cloud thought it suited him well. He watched as the creature approached, staying where he was in kneeling supplication. He did not know what to think of these two beings, they had angered His Lady, but she had not given him the command to kill them. So were they not enemies? Yet they challenged His Lady's divine power. He yearned for her comforting voice in his head telling him her will.

"Witch, thou hast chained child long time, free him now." The creature commanded.

"This one is mine! He would die without me. He's totally dependent upon my will."

"Thou honor thy oath, or I _make_ thee honor it." Authority rang in the creature's voice, and Cloud's muscles tensed, awaiting His Lady's command. He may die defending her will, but it would be his honor to do so.

"It is but one human among so many, what does this little one matter?" His Lady's voice turned soft and sweet as powdered sugar. It thrilled Cloud to know His Lady would not abandon him so easily. She did treasure him, just as she used to say –her little Weapon– how he longed for her comforting words and tender embrace now.

The gold-fire eyes narrowed, "Why this one mean so much too _thee_?"

"This one has been mine since a child, as you know. Of course I would be reluctant to part with him. He has weakness yes, they are many, but I have had my hand on him for years."

"No it is more, child too young and puny for thee to speak true." The creature challenged.

"There is no other reason, demon!" His Lady's voice was sharp as cut ice.

"Speak or I rip from thy mind."

Cloud was appalled and shocked by the threat. Spinning around, and lighting a flame of raw fire in his palm, he cried, "You will not touch my Lady!"

"Thou teach him Cetra magic, I know. Thou never teach human." The demon let a satisfied smile lift his lips. "The boy has Cetra blood."

"You would not want him regardless," His Lady dismissed confidently, her chin tilted up haughtily. "The blood is tainted, descendent from my faithful War Lord Talahali, he belongs with me."

"I remember Talahali," the demon nodded in agreement. Cloud's eyes slipped back to the human man who'd melted into the shadows, piercing ruby eyes not missing a moment of the unfolding scene. "He thy most cruel and pitiless General, I not let thee keep this child of his blood, witch. Release him."

"You do not want him! I told you his blood is tainted and his mind is already bent to my will! It will do nothing to free him, he will still serve me mind, body, and soul!" Cloud felt the pulse of His Lady's distress and it stirred his own to new heights.

"I want to serve my Lady! I will not let you take me from her!" He cried.

The demon ignored him. "If that true witch, thou not be so desperate to keep hold the chains. Maybe he not wear collar as gratefully as thee wish?" His Lady made no reply and the demon smirked. "Talahali not thy slave, thou not able to chain him, this one strong too I think."

His Lady scoffed, "He's_ weak_. He'll die without me, and then you will have wasted some of that last Cetra blood, demon!"

"I care nothing for Cetra blood or human. This last time I tell thee, free the boy, or I call down ancient magic upon thee as oath breaker."

Cloud turned fearful eyes upon His Lady, begging her not to leave him. She had guided and molded him; he would be utterly lost without her. The thought of her presence never touching him again was unbearable, he'd rather die!

"No, Lady, please, have mercy on this poor servant!" He threw himself at her feet.

She settled a loving hand upon his head. "You will always have a place beside me, my little Weapon," she cooed. "This will be a hard transition for you, but I am always here. You need only say the word and I will be your Queen forever. This cruel demon is separating us now, but you will always have a special place in my heart. Remember, I am always here."

Cloud began to sob. His Lady was so kind and generous to this poor servant, how could they not see that? He would not let them take her from him! She promised to always be there and he would serve her until death took him.

As His Lady's fingers left him he felt something in his soul snap. He doubled over, writhing on the floor, a scream tearing out his throat as his felt his world burn around him. It felt like an icy claw had reached into his heart and ripped it from his chest. Never had he felt such pain. The coldness of a thousand deaths visited him in a moment.

The pain ended, leaving the shattered husk of his spirit behind. He felt himself floating away, numbness threw her cloak about his shredded soul. Strong arms picked up his aching body. The alieness of the feeling pulled him up from the abyss; anguished blue eyes stared up into crimson. He knew –with sudden certainly- that a man had never held him thus, but the knowledge only made him realize the emptiness in his mind where _she_ had once been. He wasn't ready to face that, or the repressed memories he could feel struggling to engulf him. He knew he didn't want to remember. Anything. He couldn't handle this; he was suffering from shock and when he'd ridden it out he would remember. His mind shied away again, clutching the folds of numbness's cloak about him, inhaling the dark oblivion it promised. Deep he ran, deep into the shadows of his mind where _she_ had once dwelt, and he allowed the darkness to gather him to her waiting bosom.

….

Cloud drifted along the currents of his mind, dipping in and out of memories. He didn't want to remember, but they kept throwing themselves at him more and more. He'd forgotten he'd once had a mother, he'd forgotten everything before_ her_, even his own name. But he wanted to forget again. He looked upon this child called Cloud, and despised his weakness. He knew he was weak, _she_ often said so, but with her he was invincible. Cloud Strife could never have even imagined all Lee Talahali saw and did and was. Lee Talahali was everything Cloud could never be. Except Lee Talahali, for all his outward strength, was nothing but a slave, totally dependent on another's will. Cloud skirted around the thoughts again, not ready to face them. He returned to the memories, trying to find escape.

He was pulled into consciousness occasionally. Sometimes the red eyed man would be there waiting for him, coaxing Cloud into swallowing down food, but never forcing Cloud to speak. He wished he had the strength to thank the man, but inevitably his mind would call him back and he would slip from consciousness again, the memories and thoughts waiting to torment him. Sometimes he would awake alone, and those times were always the worst. A fresh wave of loneliness would assault him, and he would long for_ her_, hating himself for his cowardice but knowing if she came to him he would have done anything she asked if only he could return to her.

He was vaguely aware of time's passing and events stirring around him. He rarely awoke to the same place twice. Sometimes he would open his eyes to find his body being jolted about as scenery slipped by and tires ate up the land. He both treasured and hated the times he awoke sheltered in the man's arms as he carried him. Longing would awaken within him, reaching for something he'd never had; it was as painful as it was comforting for his mind inevitable turned back to _her_. He couldn't yet bear to think of what she had done to him –how she had used him like a plaything, treating him worse than a dog –and how he'd begged for it! He'd worshiped her, loved her more than life itself. That love remained, now laced with hate, and he detested himself for it.

Cloud knew, as his eyes adjusted to the afternoon light, that this awakening was different. He would not be returning to his mind again. He could not endure it. He did not think living could be worse than the torment of those nightmares, even if life had _her _in it.

He turned his head and found the man who'd cared for him bent over a desk. The man's brow was drawn as he consulted the books spread out about him, pausing to scratch a note on neatly stacked papers. Cloud wondered what he was working on, but didn't have the will to ask. His eyes scanned the room, dully taking in the details.

Would it matter at all if he just… no. If he started thinking like that, then he'd be letting _her_ win. She had always said he was weak, she said he'd died without her, well he was not going to give her the satisfaction of being right. He'd made the decision to live; now he had to get up and do it. This would be the first choice he made for himself in four years. It terrified him. He didn't know if he had the strength to make these choices. He didn't know what to feel or do, the temptation of _her _control was so close he could taste the bliss of its juices in his mouth. He could give in to her –place the collar of her control willing around his own neck– and find relief from this pain and the toughness of this thing called life. But if he answered her siren's call he would forever be giving up any chance at living. Life with her would not be living, but thralldom. Everything she offered was but a cheapened version of what he hungered for. Everything she gave him had been a lie. Her love had never been real, she cared nothing for him. As for the strength she'd supposedly given him, well, he had demonstrated that great strength when he'd prostrated himself at her feet groveling for even a shred of her attention, just to touch her feet, kneel in her presence. It made him sick, and yet…and yet he still longed for her.

Cloud buried his face in his arms, tightness squeezing his throat, his breathes turning ragged. He didn't even hear the man move, but suddenly there was a hand on his back, rubbing gently.

"Lee, you should eat something, child."

He let the sobs uncoil in his throat after that, feeling a hysterical urge to laugh. Between sobs he choked out, "Cloud, my name was Cloud. I'd forgotten….even my name she took from me!"

"Cloud. Cloud." The man never stopped rubbing his back, "Now you have taken it back."

Cloud cried for a long time, indulging in something he had not had since a child. He felt old and damaged, but also much younger than his twelve years. It felt like his life had stopped four years ago, freezing him at eight years old, but he also felt like a worn out old man who'd seen too much of life.

As his tears dried up, he felt himself assaulted by the isolation he'd grown up knowing and fearing. He knew it wasn't his right, and that he didn't know this man, but in that moment he didn't care. He turned over and flung his arms around the man's neck, the man stiffened beneath him, but Cloud didn't care as long as he got held. The man's arms eventually enclosed him in a clumsy embrace when he showed no signs of letting go. Cloud buried his head in the man's neck, and let himself whisper the things he couldn't face in the dark of his mind alone.

"I killed people. Lots of people, I couldn't…she…" his body shuddered, and the man's arms tightening about him gave him the courage to continue. "She wanted me to enjoy it, but I never did, so she made me practice again and again and again and again. Sometimes she had me play with them first so I could learn what it felt like to have that kind of power over another person. I…I didn't enjoy it, but why didn't I stop her, I should have, I could have…some of them were kids…little ones….they would- NO, I can't!" Cloud's arms squeezed the man's neck in a death grip, but the man didn't make him let go. "You know the worst part? I'd do it all again if only she'd love me. I hate her, _hate_ her, and I love her, need her. I don't know what to do without her!"

The man pulled back, so he could look into his face. "When you see her again what will you do? Will you crawl back to her?" Cloud looked away, not knowing the answer. "Decide now what you will do and it will give you the strength when the time comes. So Cloud, what will you do?"

"I don't ever want to see her again."

"That is not an answer." The man was not going to let it go, and Cloud knew he needed this, but it was hard to face.

"What do you think I should do?" It was a stupid question, but Cloud just wanted someone to take the choice out of his hands.

The man's face didn't show his disapproval, but Cloud could taste it anyway and he ducked his head, trying to hide from the piercing eyes. "If you ever want to live your own life and become the person you could be free of her, then you need to start now. Not tomorrow or next week. You could go out and find some other man or woman similar to the witch. They will tell you what to do, take the burden of decisions from your shoulders, but you will be as much a slave to them as you were to the witch, they wouldn't even need magic to do it. If you want freedom you have to start by making your own choices."

Cloud closed his eyes, knowing the man's words were true, and yet…the temptation of that life was great. He wasn't strong, he'd never been strong, just a nobody who let everyone walk all over him. He'd let himself became enslaved for four years! But he realized he didn't want to be this person anymore. He'd never wanted to be Cloud Strife –and still didn't want to be– but he couldn't be Lee Talahali either. Lee was strong on the outside: a martial artist, a relative genius with explosives according to AVALANCHE, he'd been better at magic than any adult he'd met in the four years of his travels. Lee was confident, people _listened_ when Lee talked. He could walk into a room and _demand_ attention. He always knew all the right words. Lee Talahali had been a _somebody_. It had also all been a lie. He'd been a slave. He was a murderer, he'd tortured people to death, and was hopelessly addicted to His Lady's presence and will.

Cloud didn't want to be Lee again, and he knew if he went back to_ her_, he would be. Cloud Strife might be week, but at least he was _free_. He might not be anybody, but he was not the same eight year old Cloud Strife anymore either. He had been Lee Talahali too. He might never be as smart and skilled and confident as Lee Talahali was, but Lee Talahali was Cloud Strife as well. He wanted to see if Cloud Strife could become something he wasn't ashamed of one day. It might take a long time –his will was weak – but he knew he wanted to try. He had to.

"When I see her again I am going to remain Cloud Strife." He looked up at the man. He received a single nod, but knew the man was satisfied and he felt a spark of happiness knowing he'd pleased him. "I don't know your name."

Red eyes blinked before the smallest of smiles shadowed the corner of the man's mouth, "Vincent Valentine."

"Cloud Strife," Vincent made a humming noise. "Thank-you, for you know, taking care of me, and holding me…I, well thanks." Cloud felt his cheeks heat as he trailed off.

The man nodded again before asking, "Is there family you wish to return to now you are free?"

The thought of Nibelheim turned Cloud's stomach, he never wanted to set foot there again. "No, there's no one." He played with the edge of the blanket for a moment. "How long was I…asleep? And where are we?"

"It has been four months since you were freed. We are in Cosmo Canyon."

"Cosmo Canyon? Is AVALANCHE still based here? Why did we come here?" Cloud asked in confusion.

Vincent was silent for a moment, then, "We are at war with Shinra. The Canyon rebelled against Shinra two weeks ago, blowing up the Mako Reactor and driving Shinra's standing forces out. There was one weak retaliation attack from Shinra, but they grossly underestimated our strength. AVALANCHE and Chaos are holding the Canyon while the witch has traveled to North Coral and Rocket Town, she is stirring up rebellion there already." He seemed to think over his next words for a moment. "She has a great power for persuasion."

"Yes," Cloud whispered, remembering all the people they had used in their travels. "Why are we fighting Shinra, and who is Chaos?"

"You met Chaos in the manor. As for the reason for the war…it is largely for revenge."

"And conquest," Cloud added thinking of Ryquendë's plans. "She has a body now, and has spent the last four years gathering information so that she could be ready for this day. She wants to rule world, or destroy it." Earnest blue eyes gazed up at Vincent. "We need to stop her or she's going to kill everyone!"

"Calm yourself, child. I do not understand exactly what Chaos has done, but he has made her swear oaths that he says are unbreakable-"

"Oaths in the ancient tongue?" Cloud interrupted, amazed.

Vincent nodded slowly. "I do not understand why they are so powerful."

"It is because they are sworn in the ancient language which is the base for all the Cetra's magic. The old magic and the Planet will hold her to her vows. It is possible to act against them, but you will be punished by the old magic according to how seriously it thinks you broke the vow. Say a thief was caught stealing and swore a vow never to steal again. Well it's physically possible for him to steal, but he will be punished for it depending on how terrible the magic considers the theft."

"Hum…how much time does it take for the crime to be punished?"

"Supposedly before the sun goes down on the day of your oath breaking, or, and more importantly in the case of Ryquendë, the moment a person calls upon the magic to witness the crime. What was the oath Chaos made her swear?"

"She will not be able to destroy the Planet or take war upon any humans but Shinra, she will not be able to use her dark mind magic…and she will not be able to touch Sephiroth or myself with magic or in violence. "

"Sephiroth?" Cloud's eyes widened at the name. He'd not thought of Sephiroth in years, but he forced himself to put the thoughts of his long forgotten hero away. "Well, say Ryquendë used dark mind magic on a person, either she would be punished when the sun sets or if, say, yourself or Chaos realized her oath breaking before then you could call upon the ancient magic and it would punish her immediately."

Cloud sighed, "She still has a lot of freedom and could do great harm. I don't think…I don't know if I could ever purposefully harm her." His eyes slid away in shame.

"I did not expect you too. I do not doubt she could cause great harm to the world, but a rebellion is nothing without and army. Men will follow her whether it is because of their hatred for Shinra or their love for her, they will follow. It is entirely possible we will be pulling down one tyrant and raising another in its place. However, Chaos will not let her go unchecked, but it will be a bloody war."

"How soon do you think before Shinra attacks again?"

"It may be a few weeks before they send a serious force. There are rumors of unrest in Midgar, also the war in Wutai drains their forces."

"Will we win do you think?"

"Will we hold the Canyon? It is a defensible position with a number of strong fighters, but I believe it will entirely depend on how seriously Shinra takes this rebellion. However, I do not believe they will send the forces necessary to crush us here, and by the time they realize their mistake one of the more important northern cities will be in rebellion as well."

Cloud took confidence from Vincent's words. He'd killed men and monsters before but never been in a war, and found the prospect of tearing down the mighty Shinra Electric Company, daunting. "What would you like me to do? I have-"

"How old are you Cloud?" Vincent interrupted him.

Cloud licked his lips, "Twelve."

"Hum, do you have skill with healing magic?"

Cloud didn't like where this conversation was going, but answered truthfully, "Yes. I am skilled with materia as well as knowing some of the healing spells in the ancient tongue."

"We will need skilled healers-"

"But I can fight! I am really good with explosives, you can ask Shears or Elfé, it was AVALANCHE who taught me."

Vincent regarded him silently for a moment. "You can help them prepare for the battle, but when the attack comes you will not be fighting. If you want to help you should assist the healers. It is possible Shinra forces may break through the line, at which point I do not think you will be so anxious to fight."

"You can't tell me what to do!" Cloud burst out.

Vincent stood abruptly. His expression even more closed off than usual. "You are correct. If you want to stand in the front lines, then I suggest you take it up with Elfé or Chaos who are the Commanders here."

Vincent turned briskly and made to leave. Cloud latched himself onto Vincent's metal arm, hardly caring if it cut him. "No wait! I am sorry, I am sorry, I'll do anything you like, just tell me-" he began hyperventilating.

Vincent took a firm hold of his shoulders, crouching down before him. "Shh, breathe, child."

"Sorry, sorry, don't leave me." Cloud sobbed into his shoulder, appalled by how much Vincent's apparent rejection had affected him.

Vincent sighed into his hair. "I am not leaving." When Cloud had calmed down again Vincent pulled him away and looked into his eyes. "I don't expect you to heal from what she did to you in a day, but do you see how this is dangerous? You must stand on your own feet without being depended on another's acceptance or regard for you."

"I know, I know," Cloud whispered. "I just always wanted…I want someone to like me." He shrugged helplessly.

Vincent looked at him for a long moment. "I think for the time being you should find yourself a mentor. Perhaps try spending time with children your own age as well. Is there an adult you trust, someone from AVALANCHE?"

Cloud bit his lip. "I don't know. I admire Elfé, but I don't know if she likes me much. I talk to Shears too, but…I don't think he's really the mentor type."

"No he's not," the corner of Vincent's mouth twitched at the idea of Shears being anyone's mentor. "I shall speak with Elfé, but she is going to be extremely busying in the coming months."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, none of this was your fault." Cloud could have argued with that, but didn't want to explain about his father and the Reactor. "No matter what the witch did to you, you are still a child, and without a parent or other relative you need someone to take their place to some measure."

Cloud frowned, "You don't…you think I am a burden?" Cloud couldn't bear the idea, it made him remember his mother, but if Vincent felt that way then perhaps it would be better if he left. Vincent was right, they had a war to fight and didn't need to waste time watching a kid, even if he personally thought he could take care of himself a part of him knew he couldn't. Swallowing the pain in his throat he forced himself to admit the truth. "I lied. My mother, she's probably still alive. If I'm too much trouble I guess…I guess I could go back…" He couldn't bear the thought of ever returning to that narrow-minded little town with the mother who would have killed him before birth if it was a 'civilized' thing to do.

"I don't think you are a burden, but you need someone who can look after you. I have no doubt you could survive in the world alone, but if we are going to make sure you never fall prey to people who would use your…insecurities against you, you will need someone who is a positive influence in your life." Cloud kept his gaze on the ground. "I assume you do not wish to return to your mother?"

"No, she…she wouldn't want me anyway."

"Then you will not go back." Vincent settled the matter as if it were nothing to be ashamed of or prodded at. He didn't ask why Cloud's own mother wouldn't want him, and Cloud felt a surge of appreciation for the man again.

"Maybe…maybe if you have time…." Cloud couldn't get the request out, too frightened of the rejection he knew was coming.

"I shall be very busy, Cloud. When the war picks up I will have more duties and probably spend most of my time traveling and working on…intelligence. I do not believe I am a good choice, but I will help you in any way I can."

"Thank-you. Um…what do mentors do?"

"Hum, we will work on your training, while we have time. What of your schooling, I believe the Canyon has a school for children your age."

Cloud shook his head, "I doubt they teach anything I don't know." At Vincent's raised brow he tried to elaborate. "My La- Ryquendë saw to my schooling." He didn't want to elaborate on the hours and hours spent cramped over books, his eyes watering from tiredness as he soaked up more and more and more. It had not been a pleasant experience, and the idea of studying left an acid taste in his mouth.

Vincent only nodded, leaving Cloud amazed yet again at how perceptive the man was. He didn't press unless he knew the boy needed it. Cloud didn't understand why Vincent thought he wouldn't make a good mentor.

"You should get some more rest." Cloud was about to protest when his body responded with a yawn. He did feel drained emotionally if not physically.

"All right," Cloud was shocked but elated when Vincent stayed to help him pull the covers up around him. It was such a childish thing to enjoy, but he couldn't help it. It made him feel cared for. He didn't know why Vincent was being so nice to him, and knew he should probably be more cautious, but Vincent had been here for the worst moments in his life and even if it wasn't wise to trust someone he knew nothing about, he did.

…

Cloud looped his legs over the fence's high-rail trying to find a comfortable position. He'd snuck into the practice fields every afternoon since awaking to watch the elite fighters train. Battle was in the air, the heavy summer breeze was rank with tension. The Canyon was a bustle of anxious preparations. Outlaying towns had emptied, their people seeking the Canyon's defenses against the hanging blow of Shinra's retaliation. The modest ranks of AVALANCHE warriors were joined by men and woman come to protect their families and homes who'd never handled a gun before. Shears and his men had become their instructors in Rifle 101.

Since Cloud had awakened a few days ago Vincent spent time assessing his competence with guns, magic, and martial arts. Cloud was proficient with hand guns and rifles, but not talented. Vincent was frank with him and told him he needed to find another primary weapon since a gun didn't suit him. They had spent most of their time together honing Cloud's martial arts. Vincent was a challenging opponent, pulling moves Cloud had never seen before. Cloud's arsenal contained only ninja moves he'd been taught in Wutai. He knew having Vincent as his teacher would shape him into a formidable fighter.

He wished again for this war to pass them by. He didn't want to lose Vincent to it, and he knew he would. He'd learned a little more about his mentor and recognized the demands his Turk skills would face. Wars needed spies and assassins as well as the 'intelligence' work Vincent mentioned. Vincent already spent much of his time on this intelligence work, hacking mostly, gathering information on the inner workings of Shinra. Cloud hoped Vincent would one day have the time to teach him, the ex-Turk was miles ahead of any AVALANCHE members' skill.

Intense blue eyes turned back to his current spying mission. He'd already memorized Elfé's practice scheduled; she never missed, even with the increased burden of joint Commander of the Canyon. She and Chaos were the army's Commanders leaving Bugenhagen to deal with the escalating civilian problems arising from the massive refugee influx.

The Canyon's population had been sprawled out for miles and miles, a massive network of little villages. Cosmo Canyon's population rivaled that of the large industrial northern cities of North Coral and Rocket Town, but its population was scattered, causing people to often overlook the Canyon's importance. Now its people were joining together to rise up against their oppressor. Alone, the Canyon's rebellion was guaranteed to fail, but with more cities in rebellion they had a chance.

Cloud didn't have to question what caused the constant smoldering fire of these people's hate to finally explode in Shinra's face, he already knew: Ryquendë. He knew, probably better than anyone else alive, exactly how much power little words could weave when whispered form that mouth. And for the ones like Elfé who could not be so easily persuaded with magic alone, well, they already had reason enough to fight Shinra, more bodies alongside them would only help their odds.

Cloud tracked the graceful arcs of Elfé's sword, watching her slim body effortlessly dance around the stream of bullets Shears was sending at her. He'd never seen anyone wield a sword like Elfé, and the sight always stirred long buried dreams in him. That was what he wanted, that grace and power.

The flash of Elfé's katana blade caught the sun, reflecting it back like a hundred sunrises. Watching Elfé drew Cloud's mind back to childish games of mock battles and daydreams. He remembered hours spent playing with stick swords as he fought off imaginary foes with his hero Sephiroth by his side, it all seemed so far away now –a child's dream. Sephiroth had symbolized everything he'd wanted to be as a child, but like so much in his life it had been a lie.

Cloud closed his eyes as he remembered last night. He'd been wandering the small city of refugee tents, staring at other children, but never having the courage to approach them. He'd stopped to watch a group of children play imaginary war against the Shinra invaders. One of the little boys on the 'good side' had declared himself Sephiroth for the game, and ripped through the Shinra forces. Their game had been interrupted when some older boys had teased them for being Shinra. The younger children had denied it, but the older boys had laughed and said they were pretending to be sissy Shinra dogs. They'd mocked Sephiroth and his 'girly long hair.' Eventual the younger children understood their hero Sephiroth, was in fact Shinra's hero. One of the young boys had burst into tears and angrily pulled out a prized picture of his onetime hero. Cloud had stared at the long forgotten face, and even as the child threw the picture into the fire, he had continued to stare at the chillingly familiar silver hair and slit eyes.

He'd known and yet not known. He knew Shinra scientists had stolen His Lay- Ryquendë's cells and set up an imposter as her son. Ryquendë had raged about the violation often enough in his head, but he'd never pursued the thoughts, trusting His Lady to tell him all he needed in time. He'd known who Sephiroth was too, of course, and seen the man's image a thousand times as they'd traveled the world. Cloud had known at one time that Sephiroth was the imposter son, but Sephiroth had never been anything more than Shinra's Demon General then. There were still pieces of memory and past thoughts as Lee Talahali he'd not yet recovered, he'd just not wanted to remember anymore, but he knew he would have to. He couldn't forget everything about Lee Talahali's life, there was good too, as well as necessary knowledge. Not all the memories were worth forgetting. He didn't want to forget his year with AVALANCHE, he'd been…content here for the most part.

Cloud sighed, knowing he still had work ahead of him, but not willing to dwell on it anymore. His mouth curved into a bitter smile as he thought of Sephiroth. How appropriate that he had spent years serving his hero's 'mother' when he'd practically worshiped the man.

He dropped his ironic amusement. He was not stupid, weak yes, but he had not endured years cramping knowledge into his thick mountain-skull for nothing. Ryquendë had taken them to Nibelheim with the intention of discovering more of the Jenova Project. Cloud had seen the mansion's basement labs with his own eyes. If Sephiroth's body was infected with Ryquendë's cells from birth, then what did that say about the man's history? A science experiment from birth– some of the rooms in that basement could have easily served as a holding cell/bedroom for a young child. There might not have been plush toys lying around, but some of the books and learning puzzles could have been used to teach a child.

Elfé was reaching the end of her training for the day, and Cloud was thankful for the distraction from his thoughts. He didn't really want to puzzle over the childhood of his now enemy. Sephiroth was Shinra's General, everything else he'd once been to Cloud was nothing but a foolish child's daydreams.

Watching Elfé move into her warm down stretches, Cloud tried to work up the courage to approach her. Vincent had spoken to him of his short conversation with Elfé, she had not said no exactly, but had not know Lee was Cloud. Vincent had only broached the idea of instructing Cloud in the sword, Cloud hadn't been ready to approach Elfé with anything more. It was enough to ask an already burdened Commander to take time out for a child. At least Elfé had not rejected the idea of taking on an apprentice. Vincent said she'd even seemed interested in passing on her sword skills to another warrior; AVALANCHE's expertise were in explosives and guns. An unenhanced man would never reach the level of a SOLDIER, but they had better odds with a gun in their hands.

Vincent mentioned talk of possible future enhancements for elite rebel soldiers. Fuhito, the AVALANCHE scientist, had some ideas, but Vincent and Chaos had opposed human experimentation. Ryquendë thought they needed enhanced soldiers if they were going to defeat Shinra, and Elfé agreed with her for once. Ryquendë had thrown out all of Fuhito's ideas though, as worthless, sending the scientist back to research.

In the end the rebellions' leaders were split, for all Ryquendë's power she would never be able to pull off human experimentation if her ideas became public knowledge to the rest of the rebellion, which is exactly what would happen if she over-road Chaos and Vincent in this. Vincent didn't want to have anything to do with scientists or enhanced humans, but Chaos had compromised, seeing the military benefit of enhanced soldiers. He said he would allow Ryquendë her enhanced soldiers if, and only if, she got her hands on the Shinra formula for human enhancement which was already proven successful.

Cloud was still amazed at the control Chaos demonstrated over the Cetra queen. To the rest of the rebellion it appeared Ryquendë and Elfé were their leaders, but the demon was their equal and the only one who could successfully challenge Ryquendë. Cloud doubted the human rebels would be pleased to know of the demon's power. Chaos kept to the shadows, being little more than a rumor to all but AVALANCHE. Chaos had no desire to mingle with humans, but as the war gained momentum the demon would soon enough be called upon to lead humans in battle.

Chaos had not fought in the last Shinra skirmish, Ryquendë deciding to withhold their full strength from Shinra. But Vincent told Cloud, depending on the size of Shinra's next assault, Chaos might unveil himself. Cloud was curious about the demon's strength, but the gunman had been annoyingly vague. Cloud decided it was because Vincent simply didn't know himself. Vincent was surprisingly open with sensitive information; he told Cloud it was because he wanted him to start thinking about things for himself and making decisions. The gunman always quizzed him on what he would do if faced with these decisions. Cloud always struggled with the decisions, usually settling for an answer he thought would please Vincent, but as Vincent said, at least he was thinking about these things. He had turned the problem of human experimentation over in his head several times since the ex-Turk told him of the possibility, but he was a long way from knowing what he would do if given the choice.

Cloud hopped off the fence, determined to stop hovering on the sidelines and make a decision. He hoped Vincent would be proud. He licked his lips nervously as he approached Shears and Elfé.

Elfé saw him first, her eyes narrowing slightly. She had never liked Lee, but Cloud supposed Lee could rub people the wrong way with his cocky attitude. He'd never considered it before, but Lee had adopted His Lady's haughtiness and not worn it with any grace. "Lee," Elfé greeted him coolly. "I had not heard of your return."

"Lee!" Shears's bellow cut through Cloud's hesitant response.

Shears hefted the barrel of the machine gun he'd been cleaning into a waiting crate. The man flashed a pearly smile at Cloud as he pushed his dark bandana further up his forehead. He swaggered over to sling his arm over the boy's shoulders. "Where you been you little shit? Haven't heard from you in fucking months, what happened with that little ass mountain town? Got tired of those cocksuckers, yeah? Well you came to the right place kid, we could use a hand with the defenses. I've got an idea or two that'll blow those Shinra fuckers to hell and back."

"Sure thing, Shears. I'd love to help." Cloud said shyly, Shears's open friendly manner had never affected him so much before. He'd known the man liked him well enough, but Lee was used to being liked, Cloud was not.

Shears's dark eyes swept over Cloud's flushed cheeks, "You feeling all right kid?"

"Yeah, I just…I'd like to help, if you think I could, I don't want to be a bother though…" Cloud trailed off.

Shears raised a brow. "Damn, I never thought I'd see the day Lee Talahali got tongue-tied and called himself a _bother_. What happened to tearing Shinra a new asshole? I thought you were The Number One shit?"

Cloud looked away, he had said that hadn't he? Lee certainly had a large ego, he hadn't realized it'd been so obvious though. He could feel Elfé's sharp brown eyes assessing him. He knew he was different, and didn't know what to say. He couldn't be Lee again, but he didn't think Elfé would be too disappointed with the loss, would Shears like Cloud though?

"I-" he swallowed nervously, "I'd forgotten a few things…the little town I visited, well, its where I'm from but I'd forgotten. I had an…accident a few years ago, but I remember now…um…my name's Cloud, not Lee."

"Oh, well, nice to meet cha Cloud." Shears released his shoulders and stuck out a hand, seeming to take the explanation in stride. "It's good to remember where you come from. Roots are important and all that. So, you still game to help out with those explosives?"

Cloud took the offered hand, amazed, Shears still wanted his help! "Yes! I'd like to help, I still remember, I mean I didn't forget anything you guys taught me."

"Well that's a fuckin relief. We don't want you blowing off your fingers, right Elfé?" Shears's hand unconsciously rose to ruffle his messy black hair as he glanced back at the silent swordswoman.

Elfé's eyes watched Cloud from beneath choppy bangs, the evening breeze throwing her short bronze hair about. "You suffered from amnesia then? Why did you return to the Canyon if you found your home again?"

"I…" Cloud really didn't want to say, still ashamed, but he was afraid Elfé would never trust him if he lied to her now. "When I had my accident I was running away… my mother, she wouldn't want me to show up again." His shoulders hunched defensively and he couldn't bring himself to look up from the interesting hole in his shirt.

"Well that's parents for you, real fuckers." Cloud's eyes snapped up to stare at the unconcerned man. "My da was a real shit too. I took off 'for I hit fourteen. Lots of AVALANCHE members don't have families, and its better that way. AVALANCHE will be your family now kid." Shears gave Cloud a crooked grin, fingers rubbing at his lightly stubbled chin. "What do you say Elfé? Have we adopted another stray?"

"So it would appear." Elfé's face remained impassive though, and Cloud couldn't tell if she was displeased with this development of not. "Cloud…the Turk mentioned a boy called Cloud who wanted to learn the sword?"

Cloud's nervousness returned with a vengeance. He could only stare at Elfé with wide blue eyes, unable to get any words out.

"How did you meet the Turk?"

"He found me after I got my memory back, I was…sick for a while and he took care of me."

"You're the child they brought with them? I thought the boy was the Turk's son." Elfé mused. Cloud's cheeks burned, if only that were true… but he stopped himself from dwelling on the impossible. "Very well, I shall teach you. If you do not take the training seriously though, then we will stop. I do not have much time so most of your time will be spent practicing alone. If you wish to master the sword then you will have to push yourself as much as I push you. "

"I will, I promise." Cloud practically glowed, unable to believe his good luck. Elfé, the greatest swordswoman on Gaia was going to be his teacher!

…

Anticipation and fear were scents on the wind, so heavily did they weigh upon the green rebel army. When the alarms had ripped through the silence of night, blaring the warring of Shinra's coming, panic had slipped into the inexperienced soldier's beds. But it had only lasted moments before the memorized drills were executed, orders were bayed down the chain of command, and the rebel army found its feet. They'd known an attack was eminent for days, and were well prepared.

Now Cloud was crouched in one of the tree platforms clinging to the Canyon's walls which gave the post an eagle eye view of the valley and approaching enemy. The Canyon's strength lay not in fortresses built by humans but by the Planet. The Canyon's walls narrowed the further away from the settlement one walked, before suddenly flaring out at the mouth. The rebels were going to use the tightness of the Canyon to their advantage, funneling the mass of Shinra's army down as they passed through the tightest part of the Canyon, which was where they would strike. But first they would lure the enemy into complacency, letting the front wave pass untouched through the narrow pass, only to be blown apart on the hidden death traps sleeping in the ground beneath them.

Cloud's breath was harsh in the tightness of the night. Two older AVALANCHE men knelt in the darkness beside him, waiting for Shinra to crawl a little closer. Cloud's eyes strained, trying to pick out Vincent or Elfé's forms among the many rebels coiled behind the temporary fortifications they'd been building for weeks to protect the settlement and refugees.

Moonlight glinted off the long barrel of the sole anti-aircraft gun AVALANCHE had gotten their hands on. It wasn't much, but Vincent's intelligence pointed to a land attack with only light air. The main fear was the bombs dropped from high airships; there was little they could do to guard against such an attack, but with Shinra sending in a large land force bombing would be less likely.

He caught a glimpse of Vincent, crouched on the high wooden wall, red cloak billowing about him. Cloud felt some of constriction in his chest ease. With Chaos and Elfé leading the charge he didn't see how they could be defeated. Sephiroth was still reported to be in Wutai, no doubt one of the two other Commanders would be leading the Shinra soldiers, but Cloud could only hope Shinra had indeed under estimated them.

Shears's voice broke through the silence, cracking over the walky-talky. The order had come. Cloud's gaze snapped back to the looming shadow of the forest, knowing he should at least look at the men he was about to kill. There were darker shadows running through the trees. It took the work of a moment before the night exploded in screams and fire.

Cloud gazed at the wreckage of bodies and trees being revealed as the earth settled. The rebels were pouring out of their defenses, Elfé and Shears at their helm. The flaming tails of the Cosmo Canyon guardian's lit the night as the fierce beasts joined the rebels in protecting the Canyon. Cloud had only caught glimpses of the legendary canines before. Cloud's mouth dropped open as a raging spirit roared past, diving like a great falcon at the scrambling Shinra forces. When the flying creature pulled out a massive gun and began raining hell down upon the enemy, he realized the creature was Chaos. He was magnificent.

The sound of a gun being loaded, knocked Cloud back to his own body. The two other soldiers had already pulled out sniper rifles and were picking off any they could. Cloud remembered his promise to Vincent. The gunman had reminded him of it more than once in last few weeks. As much as Cloud wanted to prove he could fight alongside Vincent and AVALANCHE, he had given his word to assist the healers. He threw one last glace at the battle unfolding below him and wondered if Vincent wasn't right about him not being ready. He'd killed before, many times –he'd just killed again– but as much as he knew he'd been the one to do those things, it felt like he carried a veil between himself and Lee Talahali, one he wasn't quite ready to tear away.

….

Cloud's skills were sorely needed as the night wore into dawn and the battle's wounded dragged in. He was thankful he'd long since lost his squeamishness –torturing someone to death will do that to a person. There was an alarming lack of healers, but Cloud worked until he was too exhausted to cast one more cure, and then he chanted the ancient magic under his breath until he was too drained for even that.

Relief and rest came with the sun though. He was wrapping a man's shredded leg when Vincent found him. They'd driven Shinra back, largely thanks to Elfé and Chaos who'd decimated the enemy ranks, not even the enhanced SOLDIERs had been able to match them. Shinra had intended to utterly crush the rebellion, and sent an impressive force lead by Commander Angeal Hewley. The number crawling back to Shinra was miniscule, the rebels took no prisoner, and Chaos had given Hewley a wound he would be lucky to survive. Chaos would have killed the Commander, but the remaining SOLDIERs had banned together to drag their seriously wounded leader too safely, paying the demon with many lives for their interference.

Cloud could see something in Vincent's eyes as he told him this and tried to press him , but Vincent would only say that what Chaos did was necessary. It was SOLDIER and its Commander's who held the power to break the rebellion, and Chaos had ensured almost all would never live to see another battle. Cloud only nodded in agreement, making his own deductions. He imagined Chaos had been merciless, no doubt striking an unholy terror in the enemy's hearts, but like Vincent said, it was necessary.

The cost of victory had not been without price, though. The rebel army was shoddily trained, doing the best with what they had, but despite the losses they would come out the stronger. This was but the first battle of the war.

….

Two days later, as the elation of victory wore off and the fear of Shinra's retaliation began to creep back in again, relief came in the form of Ryquendë's silver tongue. Rebellion had stirred in the north. Rocket Town and North Coral had driven Shinra from their homes, drawing the eye of Shinra away from the struggling Canyon.


	4. Jenova's Mate

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 4: Jenova's Mate

Ryquendë slapped another mosquito off her arm. She_ hated_ this jungle; it was barely worth conquering. The humans were more backwards and uneducated than usual, and they didn't even make up for these failings with abundant breeding. The army needed more men if they were to hold the Western Continent, but too many young men had already run off to join Shinra. Costa Del Sol and this Gongaga area were not worth the men the army had lost taking them. She cursed the old men filling their ranks where young ones should have been. Some had deserted the Shinra army, but scores remained in their comfortable positions when they should have been swelling _her_ ranks.

This war was dragging on –thirteen months since the first major battle in Cosmo Canyon– she did not understand how it could take so long to defeat humans. At least the Western Continent had been secured, but it would be easy enough for Shinra to pierce again. Ryquendë knew the only reason the rebellion had been so fortunate with their victories was the ongoing war in Wutai, splitting Shinra's resources. Shinra also had the rest of the world to manage, with constant rumblings in Midgar and a rising monster problem, their army was stretched thin.

Ryquendë grudgingly admitted that the demon's first strike against Shinra had hit them hard when he'd taken Angeal Hewley out of commission. Her Hands reported the Commander had taken five months to heal after his narrow escape from death at The Battle of Cosmo. Hewley had yet to return to the front lines a year later, though apparently he was in full health; the Commander spent his time training new SOLDIERs. If she was the Director of SOLDIER she'd never allow such waste, but their incompetence was nothing original.

With Sephiroth leading the war in Wutai, it had fallen to Commander Rhapsodos to crush the rebellion; he'd not been successful as yet. Ryquendë fingered the open folder before her, the picture of an auburn haired SOLDIER clipped to the right hand corner. The human proved more than competent when leading his SOLDIERs onto the field, and was an accomplished warrior himself by all accounts, but those talents had not transferred over to leading Shinra's regular army or organizing a war on this scale. The human depended too heavily on SOLDIERs and not at all on his infantry.

She snapped the folder shut and swept it aside to study the troop movements charted on the map below. The rebel army was split into three branches. She disliked leading soldiers in the open field, feeling it beneath her position as their queen, but it had unfortunately been necessary on more than one occasion. She was a Sorceress of unparalleled power, but these human wars were so unrefined. When she rode to war she longed for a challenge, but instead was surrounded by feeble human efforts.

Her gaze strayed north where the greatest fist of her power resided under the demon's command. Oh, how the demon despised the tediousness of human command, she thought with a smirk. The last portion of the rebel army marched south, back to Cosmo Canyon after the successful conquest of Prison Town. Most of her Knights –her elite fighters– made up this last branch of her army under the human General Elfé. Her Knights had absorbed the old terrorist group AVALANCHE, and collected new skilled fighters as they rose in the ranks.

The only remaining branch of rebellion fighters were her Hands, led by the surprisingly useful human Valentine. Her Hands performed the tasks every successful ruler needed accomplished without having to worry about a soldier's loyalty. They were her spies and assassins, her eyes and ears in Shinra and the rebel army as well. She could've had the Shinra President assassinate easily enough, but had left him to lord over his crumbling empire. He was an imbecile, thus the perfect man to lead her enemy into the ground. She'd ordered the assassination of Shinra's Head of Weapons Development –Scarlet. The woman had been experimenting with the idea of a Mako Cannon, which was far too dangerous; fortunately her replacement was entirely unoriginal.

One of her Hands scratched at the tent flap, requesting entrance. "Come." The dour-faced human woman entered her presence and Ryquendë crinkling her nose. Trekking through stinking swamps would not improve anyone's appeal, but these humans were positively vile! She didn't know how they could stand their own smell.

"The helicopter just landed for you, Lady."

"Tell them to wait a moment." She ordered. A queen must always appear regal, and her mud-spattered clothes would never do. How she hated this jungle.

Ryquendë garbed her perfect body in a simple blue cotton dress, longing again for the war's conclusion. The first thing she'd do when her rule was established would be to order a new wardrobe and the handsomest jewels to shine next to her beauty. Digging about her traveling packs in an undignified manner (she would be sure to employ a host of servants as well) she found an intricately wrought silver bracelet. An enamored human male had given it to her, as was her rightful due as his queen.

Considering herself suitably attired, she swept from her tent. Her second in command awaited her presence by the helicopter. "You are to prepare the army for departure. Head north, and out of this repulsive jungle, to Cosmo Canyon. General Elfé will give you further orders after you arrive."

Being forced to talk to this human like some kind of equal was horribly odious, but she'd been doing so for over a year now, and constantly reminded herself it was not forever. Without another word she ascended the helicopter. If there was one thing she could say for the human race, it was their cleverness in finding expedient ways of travel; it lacked the thrill of Dragon-Riding, but was certainly more comfortable.

Ryquendë primly buckled herself into the noisy machine. They would reach Cosmo Canyon in a few hours. She'd called together another War Council, though they inevitably ended up with more civilian complaints then war planning. She shuddered at the thought of 'representation' and cursed the demon for the thousandth time. This would all be so much simpler is she could use mind magic freely. She couldn't be everywhere in her new kingdom at once, which meant she couldn't implement her limited powers of persuasion on every problem. She was forced to bend to some of the human's demands; it was terribly degrading. They were fortunate Shinra had been so resented or this rebellion would never have succeeded.

Ruling these humans was almost more grief then it was worth. She had to put up with a 'representative' from every major area under her rule; she already endured five and now another with the Gongaga area! If that wasn't enough, there was the terrible talk of 'democracy.' It was appalling. Why couldn't she find humans like the Wutainese to rule? They understood the value of a strong ruler. She was getting a headache and the War Council had not even gathered yet.

….

The pounding behind her eyes had abated by the time Ryquendë arranged himself elegantly in her chair. She didn't understand why she should not have a throne, but Chaos had vetoed the idea; these humans had no appreciation for royalty. As the other attendees of the Council gathered about her she sent out gentle mind touches, bringing tranquility to busy minds and submission to angry ones, leaving only three untouched: the demon, her Hand Director Valentine, and her General Elfé.

The usual nervous shifting began as the demon entered the room, all eyes turning to the menacing form. Leather wings trailed behind him, gold-fire eyes daring the humans to defy his place among them. The demon refused to conform to the humans' standards. He could have tucked his wings in, done something about his wild headdress of scarlet fathers, or put aside his imposing armor and dawned 'acceptable' human garments –but the beast had not. It amused Ryquendë to see the shifty glances the other Council members shot him. The soldiers the demon led in battle had grown slightly more used to his presence, but they were still in fear and awe of him. There had never been complaints from dissatisfied soldiers under the demon's command; they were too cowed to ever voice their imagined grievances.

Ryquendë's delicate silver brows creased in distaste as she watched the demon lean in to whisper in her Hand's ear. The demon was unnaturally attached to his former host. They were too close, almost…friends. It turned her stomach. They needed to be focused on the war, on _her_, not their mutually disgusting _companionship_.

She might be slightly jealous of their closeness, but if so it was no fault of her own and entirely the demon's. It was the demon who brought back her memories and reawakened a longing for children, and even a mate. But here she was, a year after being promised a mate, and still surrounded by filthy humans.

None of the SOLDIERs she'd fought caught her eye; the Lifestream in their veins was not strong enough to cancel out the vileness of their species. They were unrefined, coarse, uncultured, totally unsuited for being her mate. Nor had they shown strength of mind or body to challenge her. She would of course prove stronger and superior to any human mind, but that did not mean she would enjoy a mate who was weak-willed. She longed for the heavy weight of a child in her belly again, and the simple but priceless pleasures of motherhood.

Since the demon had torn into her mind so savagely she'd slowly begun to fear that victory and rule over the Planet might not be enough to satisfy her reawakened and ravenous hungers. She had once believed it was her hate and vengeance that would never be satisfied, but now she wondered if she wasn't searching for something else. She couldn't remember having similar thoughts during her last war of vengeance against the Cetra –even a few months ago these doubts and fears would have been foreign to her. The demon must have done something to her, but she did not know how to reverse it, or even if she wanted to.

Ryquendë tossed her silver head, banishing the thoughts, now was hardly the time for self-reflection. All eyes turned to her –eager, worshipfully awaiting her words—all these 'powerful' humans groveling before her, what a beautiful sight. She caught Chaos smirking, but ignored the demon. Even that oaf Bugenhagen from Cosmo Canyon served her. She took secret delight in his subjection. How 'wise' they called him, yet so willing to trust her with a few sugary words of freedom.

The Representative from North Coral made some rough remark. She utterly despised that brut! How could one of her largest most powerful cities elect this Barret Wallace for its representative? She gave them her most charming and false smile, and forced herself to pretend to listen to their 'concerns.'

An hour later she was gritting her teeth, and twirling her magic through their minds. It was draining to hold the mind-links with so many people this long, but she was not about to be forced into sending troops to Wutai, nor did she care about the environmental hazards of oil Bugenhagen kept pressing. She'd already closed all the Mako Reactors in her conquered lands. The arrogance of humans astounded even her at times; to use the Lifestream in such a petty manner was the epitome of foolishness.

The Council approved Bugenhagen's proposal of building Sun-Shields and Wind-Catchers to gather natural forms of energy. The decision was loudly opposed by North Coral's Representative. The area raked in a tidy amount of Gil from its monopoly on affordable energy. Ryquendë silenced the man with some cheap words he didn't have the wit to see through. At times she forgot how tiresome it was to rule, but she'd never had this much trouble with her own people, though that could be because they had all been enslaved to her will.

The Wutainese ambassador was being particularly difficult today. The Council had finally gotten back to the point of the gathering –land conquest– when the ambassador began pushing for reinforcements again. Sometimes she wondered why she'd ever sent her Hand Valentine to secure an alliance with the tiresome people. The Wutainese already had an emperor and would be the last to accept outside rule. There were several economic benefits of trade between them, but she was not about to send soldiers she couldn't afford to spare to a land she would never reign.

It took more time then she wanted to waste getting the Wutai diplomat to see how much more beneficial it would be to expand the rebellion into the Northern Continent, rather then send the desired troops to the struggling island. They'd finally come to the meat of the War Council. Ryquendë had had her eye on the Northern Continent for some months now and was ready to infiltrate. There was a good deal of opposition to her plan, but her War Generals all stayed silent, and she eventually settled the Representatives and sent them on their way with several empty promises.

The War Council had ended as she knew it would –according to her will. She would leave for the Northern Continent within the week and begin again what she did best: stirring up discontent in human hearts. As the Council dispersed, she called her Generals and Hand to stay, having some more sensitive instructions to impart.

"As you no doubt have heard, my Hands were finally successful in attaining the precise formula Shinra uses to create SOLDIERs. Fuhito can begin mako treatments this very week." Valentine's eye twitched, his only sign of displeasure with the plans for human experimentation. "Demon, you and General Elfé will pick three Knights to begin the treatments. Make sure they are not our best fighters. If the treatments are successful we will open it for voluntary submission of Knights only."

"We should use regular soldiers for the test; I don't want to sacrifice any of my Knights." Elfé protested.

"It would be a waste of mako." Ryquendë was unrelenting.

"Do as General Elfé says, I do not trust Fuhito to be able to follow even a basic formula." Ryquendë's eyes flashed at the demon's words. The filthy beast, how dare he order her! But she already knew the demon would win, he usually did.

"What about Elfé?" Valentine's soft voice asked.

"If I received the mako treatments I could have the materia removed from my body." Dark circles lined the dull-brown eyes. The human swordswoman had grown progressively weaker over the last year, the materia embedded in her arm draining away her life force.

Ryquendë had first sensed the foreign materia when her vessel and she had dwelt among AVALANCHE in Cosmo Canyon, before attaining her own body. She hadn't know how the woman had managed to get rare materia in her arm, only that it was slowly killing her. It was her Hand Valentine who discovered Hojo's involvement, while gathering intelligence on Shinra. The woman herself had no memory of it as she suffered from severe amnesia, knowing nothing of her past before AVALANCHE took her in. Apparently the swordswoman had been a test subject for an alternative form of SOLIDERs the scientist had been working on; it had been a failure, for while the planted materia gave the swordswoman unnatural strength, it also stole her life energy.

Ryquendë had been enraged when she discovered Valentine had gone against her orders and informed the woman of her condition. Ryquendë didn't want her General trying to remove the materia. It might be killing the woman, but she was worthless to the war without the power it gave her. The army could ill afford to lose such a strong fighter. Valentine was annoyingly loyal to all he called friend –a thankfully small number of people– unfortunately the swordswoman had somehow wiggled her way into that number. The human woman surprised Ryquendë by choosing to continue to pay the price for her unnatural strength, though. Ryquendë had underestimated the human's hate for Shinra and loyalty to her soldiers.

"No woman has ever survived mako treatments." The demon reminded the dying swordswoman.

"Fuhito has a possible solution," Ryquendë admitted. She would rather not take the risk of her General dying even sooner, but the scientist would tell the woman of his 'cure,' if only because he wanted the smugness of success. The man's ideas were rarely successful, but Ryquendë had examined this one closely and believe it had a chance of working. "I've study his idea," she continued, seeing the demon's incredulous stare. "And believe it might work. He wants to inject you with a small amount of mako monthly, not enough for it to begin fighting your body like the mako treatments would, but enough to counteract the materia's drain. The idea is that the materia would feed on the mako in your blood rather than your body's natural energy."

"That sounds surprisingly sane." Valentine mussed. The swordswoman smiled wryly at him.

"I shall look over Fuhito's idea first," cut in the demon. He was always shouldering his way into her business! "The man's an imbecile and dangerously greedy for glory."

"He's helped AVALANCHE in the past," Elfé defended the man.

"This is not AVALANCHE. The man's a fanatic for science as well as the Planet." Valentine's voice was heavy, "Once a scientist, always a scientist."

"Very well," Elfé conceded, "But I would like to begin within the month." She ran a hand through her short hair. "I do not have the strength to continue like this much longer." The swordswoman was known for her strength and silent endurance, if she was giving voice to her own fragility then death must be closer then Ryquendë had believed.

"Within the month," the demon promised, before turning back to the original line of discussion. "If the test subjects are a success, how many Knights dost thou anticipate volunteering for the enhancements?"

"At least thirty," the swordswoman answered. Then slanting a glance at Valentine, "Cloud will be among them."

"He should wait until he's fifteen at least." Ryquendë watched her Hand closely; she'd never been able to determine how intimate her former vessel was with the red-eyed man.

"But he will not," Elfé countered. Valentine's eyes locked with Ryquendë's silver ones, and seemed to decide not to say more in her presence –disappointing.

"Thirty is an acceptable beginning; more will no doubt choose the treatment when they see their fellow Knight's success." Ryquendë dismissed the discussion, "I will speak with the demon and my Hand."

The General took her leave without a word of protest, expecting no less from Ryquendë, and the Cetra queen turned her attention solely on her Hand and the demon. "Hojo must be dealt with." She'd been considering this for some time. Her Hand was chafing under the delay, but the war had not been able to spare him, nor could they now. "However, it must wait for my return. You will both be needed to hold the Western Continent."

Valentine's mouth tightened. "I have already waited a year, five months, and twenty-two days for my rightful revenge. I will not sit patiently by while you invade city after city."

"You will have your revenge within the year-"

"Keep your pretty promises, witch. I will leave with or without your approval." Valentine's words were cold and Ryquendë knew she would get no quarter from the demon, he always took the human's side.

"You cannot leave while I am in the Northern Continent," Ryquendë pressed. "The demon will leave with you, as you know, and then the army will fall to Shinra and a year's work ruined! When the Northern cities begin their rebellion I shall return, only then can you and the demon pursue Hojo."

Valentine was silent a long moment, and for once the demon kept his own council, letting the human decide. Finally, "If the North does not rebel within six months then I will leave regardless. You have six months, witch."

Ryquendë gave no reply, too enraged to speak. How did these humans get away with speaking to her in this manner? It was the demon, always the cursed demon. If not for his oaths she would have crushed the world and all these filthy humans' months ago. She swept majestically passed them, as a queen should when faced with such lowly filth.

Her eyes fell upon her General Elfé as the doors swung shut behind her. The human man Shears was with her, no doubt trying to gain the swordswoman's attention. Ryquendë's nose wrinkled at the dirty bandana the man's head was permanently wrapped in. If he wanted to attract the woman's attention he should clean himself up. He was attractive enough for a human, but repulsively gummy and unkempt. Ryquendë remembered the man from her time spent inhabiting her vessel, and thought him wholly lacking in manners and possessing a vulgar tongue.

Her former vessel, Talahali's descendent, was with the two humans. Her eyes narrowed, still displeased with the boy's loss. She'd not expected her vessel to survive the severed soul bound, but the boy proved stronger then she'd believed. Still several years short of manhood, at thirteen summers, he was already an accomplished warrior. He'd blossomed under her General and Hand's tutorage, holding the place of second finest swordfighter in her army, and had been numbered among her Knights since his thirteenth birthing day. The boy was also intelligent, of course, after four years of her molding him. It was a great loss, for the boy now held no loyalty to her.

There was longing in his eyes whenever she graced him with her presence, and she had expected the boy to return to her service, but the demon had ruined this as well. The beast separated them at a crucial time, and when the boy final came into her presence again he'd refused her! No one refused Ryquendë, Queen of the Stars, the boy had become a thorn in her side. She would have thought the child ripe for lifelong devotion to her after being enslaved at such a tender age, but he'd proved stubborn – a true heir of Talahali—holding previously untapped strength of will. He would have made a magnificent War Lord, but she had to content herself for now with the knowledge that the boy would never fight against her. She could see the self-hatred in his eyes as they watched her with both love and hate. The boy still yearned for her praise and gentle touch like a child longs for their parent's love when it is denied.

The boy had developed a delicious phobia of being controlled. His self-hatred and inability to stop himself from hungering for her domination, caused him to fear all forms of power over himself. Only her General and Valentine were able to control and guide the boy. It was fortunate the boy was in her Knights and under Elfé's command and not the regular army; he never would've lasted there. It was an interesting phenomenon, one Ryquendë would have enjoyed studying if she'd the time, but she'd not given up all her plans to re-chain the boy to her will, the prime opportunity had simply not presented itself.

She touched the boy's messy golden head in passing, a benevolent ruler acknowledging a worthy subject. She nurtured the boy's wilted adoration for her whenever they met, hoping to coax a new bud from the damaged stock. She felt the boy shiver and close his eyes as he relished her attention, even as he despised it. Oh yes, he may never again give her his undivided loyalty, but a part of the child would always be hers.

…

Ryquendë's silver eyes burned like stars, her nostril's soaking in the smell of spent magic on the air. Two thousand years it had been since she faced such a worthy opponent on the field of battle, and she relished it. She had, of course, emerged the victor, but there were a few moments when doubt invaded her heart. She relied entirely upon her Mage abilities, needing no weapon but the ancient tongue; her opponent had wielded both materia magic and the sword with great skill.

Her gaze swept over the diminished rebel forces. Shinra had not been idle this round. When murmurs of unrest shook the Northern Provinces Shinra came out in strength to quell them with a ringing blow. Ryquendë may have defeated her challenger, but the disorderly mob about her had not fared as well. Hard months of labor now lay strewn about the cobbles of Icicle City, staining the streets in blood and gore. It appeared she would have to call up her army prematurely. She had hoped to secure the North's alliance before bringing up reinforcements to swell their ranks, but she'd overestimated Shinra's preoccupation with Wutai and its empire.

Ryquendë did not let the disappointment fell her growing pleasure. She had found him; finally, after nearly despairing of his existence, she had found her future mate. Genesis Rhapsodos. Never before had they met on the battlefield, all she had known of him was second hand, none of which gave her future mate justice.

His lowly human origins were eclipsed by the purifying Lifestream coursing through his veins, greater than any other SOLDIER she had faced before. Handsome as well as powerful, azure eyes burning into hers as they danced with death, challenging her with a cocky smirk. She reveled in the way –while defeated for the day– he strutted away with all the arrogance of a king. He knew he was superior to these other humans, and showed it. They would make strong sons together; Genesis Rhapsodos was worthy to reign by her side.

…

North's fierce white bride, winter, closed her legs and let the slumber of spring creep over her after the long night of passion with her lover. The snowy tears of her love would not fall again until her lover took to her bed as the trees danced naked and the grass shed its vibrant green. Ryquendë felt the blush of summer's promised warmth upon her skin as she strode silently through the inn's halls, intent upon her night's goal. She would gaze upon her future mate before crossing the sea to her southern kingdom again.

Noiselessly she glided into Genesis's room and approached the bed where he lay in slumber. The cotton sheets had slipped off his bare chest during the night. He lay on his back, arm flung up to twine behind his head. Auburn hair spread out on the pillow in tangled disarray. When they married, they would lie upon silk sheets and velvet pillows would cradle their heads as they created beautiful children together.

A disquieting scent nuzzled her nose: the smell of sickness. Ryquendë bent closer to her future mate, attempting to discern the cause of the smell. One of her elegant hands touched his chest; she could feel the disease eating away at him now. This could be turned to her favor though, her future mate fought with the enemy, but such a disease as this could not be easily cured by Shinra's scientist. When they failed to purge her aggressive, destructive cells from his body, he would be vulnerable to her. She was not the mightiest Cetra to walk Gaia for nothing; she could gather his alliance and heal him in one blow.

Ryquendë smirked as her fingers moved to caress the russet strands of his hair. Her future mate's arrogance found complement in her own. He was born to rule the masses by her side. Sapphires glinted in the moonlight as Genesis's eyes opened with her touch. She did not withdraw her hand as sleep-clouded eyes focused on her, only continued her exploration, trailing the tips of her fingers along his smooth jaw.

"When your soul grows weary and your body seeks relief from its torment, come to me and I shall give you my gift, little prince."

He stared up at her, confusion creasing his brow, "Aren't you the rebel leader? What gift would I need from you?" Blue eyes sharpened, darting about for his sword; the lithe body was coiled tight, ready to spring. She paid this no mind, continuing to stroke his cheek.

"The gift of the goddess," bending closer she placed a soft kiss upon shocked lips. His hand jerked out, encircling her slim wrist.

"What are you?"

She laughed. A laugh she had not loosed in two thousand years; it tinkled like bells. Her heart felt light and filled with a hope she thought had been murdered along with her two beloved sons so long ago. Genesis's eyes widened as the wrist he held a moment before slipped like water from his grasp. The silver woman melted into the night, and Genesis was left wondering if she had been a phantom of his own imagination.

…

Sometimes he still heard them whispering in his head, their cruel voices boring deep, deep into his dead heart, but then he remembered that they were gone, and the voices were his own. The hive of demons had been cast out almost two years ago, but what were two years to twenty-two?

He would never be able to repay Chaos for his freedom, but at the same time he wondered if he ever would be free –he certainly didn't deserve to be. He thought the phantom voices were his own head never letting him forget what he truly was. The hole of the demons hissing hate would ache sometimes like a forgotten limb, and he embraced the pain like a long lost lover, accepting his punishment. In the light of day he would fool himself into believing he'd paid for his sins, but the truth was the province of night, when the pretty, shiny words lost their power.

Lucrecia, his beautiful Lucrecia, was dead. But she had never been _his_, even when her flawless body writhed beneath him. He closed his eyes and saw her teasing smile, the tilt of head as she beckoned him to bed. The sound of his voice sighing his love as he slid himself into her willing wet body, taunted him in the dark hours of the night.

An angel she had been, unspoiled in her sin, temptress of the ages. Whore. Yes, that as well. Perfection he had called her once, his unconditional love covering a multitude of sins, but how far she'd fallen from her pedestal now. He had worshiped her even as she raced into Hojo's arms, bringing even the heartless scientist to heel –for a time– with her talented tongue and false innocents. And Vincent, being the fool he was, had thought she loved Hojo, and would never grudge her any happiness.

Blind foolish boy! What had Hojo been but the next step on her ladder of ambition? What had she not been willing to sacrifice for name and fame? Vincent could have forgiven her for her crimes against him, and gladly, but what of her son? With eyes wide-open she betrayed the innocent life growing in her womb, and for that sin there could be no forgiveness.

He had blamed Hojo for twisting her mind, tarnishing his angel, infecting her with his poison: the secret whispers between sheets soaked with the sweat of passion, leaving only false invincibility. But his eyes were open now, and while he would always love her, he could never forgive her or himself for failing her. The sin of the angel's fall was as much his own as Hojo and Lucrecia's.

Hojo's ticket to hell had been bought. The monster in human skin would never witness another sunrise, Lucrecia's child would be saved twenty-four years too late, but it was all the penitence Vincent could pay. It would not be enough, nothing could erase the past, and no punishment could balance out his sins. Some sins could never be forgiven, so what was the point in trying?

Vincent's tattered cape swirled about him as he made his way to the training fields. He would be leaving with Chaos in an hour and needed to tell Elfé and Cloud of his departure. Cloud was unaware of the upcoming mission, but Elfé already knew of Chaos and his plans, they had been building them for months.

Heads turned to watch the gunman glide past, eyes flickering over the dark shadow. He would never become used to the stares. Eyes judging and finding him wanting; uncomfortable glances saying what mouths never had the courage too: strange, monstrous, unnatural. He was a dead man walking, and they felt it –maybe they didn't know they did, but it was there in the air clinging to his cool skin–or at least Vincent imagined it was. He didn't remember dying, but he didn't let the blank nothingness scare him. If that was what awaited him, then he could embrace it.

What he hated most though, were the pitying looks. They lingered on his clawed arm, avoiding his blood-red eyes; ashamed to be caught looking, as if he were a deformed leper. Sometimes the eyes were curious, and he had to grit his teeth when the _questions_ started. Sometimes the eyes would fill with false understanding, and the mouths would talk of his claw not 'bothering' the poor human who had to endure his presence. They would dismiss it like it was nothing, looking expectantly at him as if he should congratulate them for their 'maturity.' But it meant something to him, it meant _everything_. He hated the gauntlet, but not for the reasons they thought. He cared nothing for the marred beauty of his body –vanity had a way of dying when you started rotting away. There might not be any visible signs of his death –he bleed, he could feel the thump thump of his heart, his lungs would beg for air if denied– but he never forgot. His clawed hand was a symbol of everything that had been stolen from him: his life, his arm, his love, his future, maybe even his sanity. When he touched the cold metal he remembered why he fought this war, why he still took lives he no longer had any right too, why he had crawled out of his box and forced himself to live again. When unnatural eyes examined his deadly hand, he remembered Hojo.

Vincent slowed his steps, letting his gaze linger on the sparing pair before him. Cloud's hard work was paying off; the boy had been training under Elfé for over a year now, and was peerless in the ranks, but for his tutor. The boy had discovered a talent for duel-wielding and chosen two shorter katana as his primary weapons.

Watching the two swordmasters was always a stunning sight. Elfé had found a new fire in the months since her mako treatments had commenced. The experimental idea of Fuhito's had proved remarkably successful. Elfé was dependent on her monthly mako injections, but her life-force was no longer being eaten away by the summons materia. The once dulled brown eyes held light in them again, and drawn pale skin now possessed a flush of vigor.

As their spar came to an end, with Elfé taking the victory as usual, Vincent emerged from the shadows. "You look well, Elfé."

"Vincent!" Cloud spun around with a smile for his mentor, "When did you arrive? I thought you were still on assignment in Rocket Town."

"Not an hour ago, but Chaos and I will not be staying in The Canyon; I only came to inform you of our departure." He glanced at Elfé with this.

"Another mission for Ryquendë?" Cloud asked, his lips thinning at the thought of so little time together.

"No."

Elfé nodded her understanding of the simple answer. "Good luck, Vincent, may the Planet be with you." Vincent accepted her words with a silent nod and Elfé took her leave, letting Vincent tell Cloud alone.

"No?" Cloud looked between Vincent's unusually fervent eyes and Elfé's retreating back.

"We are going to Midgar for some much delayed revenge."

"Hojo. But…it's too dangerous, Midgar is-"

"Nothing I cannot handle, as you know very well, Cloud. I will be back tomorrow and we will have some time in The Canyon before Ryquendë's planned northern invasion."

Cloud sighed, looking away troubled. "You could die," the boy whispered.

"I could die on any of my missions, this one is no different. If I die then I die, there is nothing to fear in death."

"Nothing to fear for the dead maybe, but what of the living?" Mako-blue eyes flashed up at him. Vincent remained silent, having no comfort to give. "What will I do if you don't come back?"

The child's lip trembled slightly, but he did not cry, it had been some time since the boy allowed himself too. He'd grown up too fast; barely fourteen and living a life revolving around war and loss. Now mako sung in a child's veins, and Vincent found it increasingly difficult to meet the blue eyes as the treatments became more pronounced. This was another sin.

He should have spoken more openly with Cloud, forced him to listen. Cloud couldn't understand the price he would pay for this strength, and Vincent had not told him. He'd not been able to find words for the loneliness and separation Cloud would face in a life of the unnaturally enhanced. Cloud would never suffer the horror of experimentation, never see the price his new strength had been bought with, but by pumping mako into his veins the boy had joined those who would be forever held at arm's length by the rest of the world –not quite human not yet monster. At least Cloud would not be alone in his isolation.

This silence had not been the first time Vincent failed his student, though. Before the war, there'd been a fragile innocence about the child, defying all logic. Childish hands had already learned how to take a life, and eyes that should have been open and guileless were as brittle as life had shown herself to be. But for all this, Cloud's soul had been strangely pure even while stained black with blood.

Cloud had become obsessed with his own perceived weaknesses after the chains of his enslavement fell. And over time he'd developed an abhorrence of being manipulated or controlled in even the smallest sense. He believed he'd be able to protect himself from ever being used again if he became a stronger fighter, not able to understand the strength hidden in the mind. Cloud began training fanatically, and joined the Knights the day after his thirteen birthday.

Vincent could never find the right words to stop the obsessive behavior, and hating the helplessness he felt when Cloud refused to listen to his words of caution or advise to wait before joining the war, had fallen into a cold silence. The ex-Turk did not know how to handle the damaged child, and feared his own attachment to the boy. Not wanting to face his own failure, or the terror of caring for a fragile child who would probably be dead before the year was out, he'd run away. Burying himself in his work as Hand, becoming the emotionless Turk he'd once been. Kill after kill. He might never have returned to the child who'd become more then student, but Chaos –who knew him best– pulled him back to life. When he found Cloud again the child had been hurt and cold, none of the once precious innocence visible. Vincent had almost turned away again, fearing he would only continue to damage the child with his own failings, but not all had been lost. The needy child he'd first encountered, hungry for his affection, was still there. He couldn't bring himself to make Cloud suffer the pain of abandonment again, even if Vincent's own presence ruined him.

Cloud still longed for love and acceptance, but the fear of being manipulated caused him to hold all but a few at arm's distance. The boy had developed an unhealthy fixation on control, often defying orders if they were not from Elfé, Vincent, or Chaos (Cloud was not close to the demon, but would be forever grateful for his protection against Ryquendë). The mako treatments had been the ultimate consequence of Cloud's terror of ever being weak and used again. Vincent hoped Cloud could one day see the strength he already possessed, and be able to let go of his fears and accept love without fear of manipulation, but he could not see that day coming soon. The child was surrounded by flawed, broken people filled with pain, and consumed with their own vengeance.

Cloud stood before him now, lips trembling as he fought to keep the emotions at bay. Tentatively Vincent bent and wrapped the child in his arms, enduring the touch, to offer the boy comfort. Cloud clung to him, murmuring the demand for Vincent not die in his mentor's ear.

The gunman released the child after a moment, "Whatever happens I know you will endure, you're stronger then you know." There was no succor in Cloud's glowing eyes, and Vincent found the strength to voice words long over-do. "I'm proud of you. I regret—" he swallowed. He'd always been a coward, but Cloud's shimmering eyes forced the words out. "You are like a son to me, in my heart you are mine."

Cloud gasped and pressed his wet face into Vincent's neck, "I love you." Vincent had never heard Cloud admit love for anyone; he closed his eyes, gathering the words close to his chest.

….

One year, ten months, and sixteen days since Vincent Valentine emerged from his box, he closed his flaming eyes and savored this moment. Revenge would be sweet. Yet he knew it would bring no relief from his sins.

Chaos awaited him, lounging against a tree trunk. He gave Vincent a feral smile, fangs catching the sunlight. It was impossible to forget what Chaos was –not human– but Vincent had long since grown comfortable with the demon's presence despite, or perhaps _because_ of this fact.

Vincent himself no longer numbered himself among the human race, but Chaos was something entirely _other_. It was the result of the Planet's forging Chaos into a WEAPON, more so then any differences between Chaos's species and humans. Chaos had a certain detachment from the world, unable to become emotionally involved with individuals, though Vincent suspected this suited the demon fine. The demon's disconnection with the present world was caused as much by Chaos's personal hatred for human beings, as by the Planet's interference.

Tolerance and a form of comradeship had developed between Chaos and a small number of humans like Elfé and Cloud, but Vincent knew it would never become more. Vincent was the only exception. The demon had been _forced _to see him as a person when Lucrecia imprisoned him inside Vincent's body. It was Chaos though, who chose to understand and eventually develop affection for him. Vincent knew Chaos cared for him, the demon made no secret of it between them, and often fondly called Vincent_ his_ human. But the gunman thought Chaos rarely remembered Vincent's species despite the name. Instead, Vincent often felt like an honorary Kagalbi, something he was not displeased with. He enjoyed hearing about Chaos's people and the tales of days long gone. Vincent missed Chaos's companionship when the war kept them apart. It still surprised him how easy he found his friendship with Chaos, compared to most humans, but the knowledge had never been distressing.

/_The cockroach's blood will sweeten our mouths tonight, and we shall dance to the sound of his breaking bones and screams. He shall beg for death a thousand times before it is given, my human_/ Chaos's smile was like a blade. /_Come_/

Wings twitching, eager for flight, Chaos held out a clawed hand for Vincent who stepped hesitantly forward. They did not have the time for a ship's voyage with Ryquendë marshaling an army to send north, nor could they risk traveling by airship since Shinra's radars would be sure to pick up the unidentified craft. Their plans hinged on total surprise.

Vincent's always excellent intelligence put Hojo outside the Shinra Tower's high-level protection tonight. Some bigwig financial supporter was hosting a dinner for the President, and Hojo was scheduled to attend. The house would be swarming with Turks, but they were confident they could make off with their prize before their intrusion was noted. With so few options for swift travel, Chaos had proposed flying. With wings. Vincent was not reassured, but they would make unbeatable time.

Vincent stepped awkwardly forward, as much time as he'd spent with the demon over the last two years, neither of them were free with physical touch. He settled his hands on the shoulder armor. Chaos's hands rose to gently cup Vincent's waist, carful of his sharp claws, before drawing the human against his chest. Vincent's feet stumbled a bit with the sudden movement, arms bent uncomfortably, before he slid them around the demon's neck. His hands got tangled in the silky-soft feathers, the gauntlet catching clumsily. Chaos winced, and Vincent hummed an apology before managing to extract the offending appendage. Vincent swallowed nervously as he finished settling himself; the demon's chest burned against his, not quite hot enough to scorch, but far hotter than even a mako enhanced SOLDIER. Chaos's heady scent flooded his nostrils, sunlit pine-boughs, spring rain, winter's breath, a mountain glade, damp moss, the ocean's bier: Gaia, he smelt of Gaia.

"Ready, Vincent?" The way Chaos said his name against his cheek caused a shiver at the base of his spine, the demon must have taken it as a sign of nerves for the muscular arms tightened about him.

"Yes," Vincent didn't have time to say more before they shot into the air, the land dropping away beneath them at breathtaking speed.

…

Vincent ripped the blindfold from Hojo's face, relishing the wild black eyes it unveiled. Chaos panted in anticipation behind him, but there was no hurry, they had all night.

The kidnapping had gone smoothly. Shinra was short a few Turks and one head scientist, and would no doubt be reviewing the house security tapes if it had any, but that was no matter, they could look all they wanted.

Chaos had kept his form hidden beneath his wings. Shinra already had a file on them both, but it didn't need any more data on a creature it was still scrambling to understand two years after he first crashed onto their radar. Shinra knew who Vincent was already; he'd not bothered to change his name, so his identity had been easily discovered by the Turks. The Turks had tried to make contact with him and buy his loyalty early into the war; Vincent would return to Shinra's pocket when the stars fell.

He found it amusing to see how little information the Turks had on the rebellion's leader. They had some pictures of Ryquendë, her name and speculation of a possible family connection to Sephiroth, which had been firmly denied by Hojo, though the scientist was as clueless as the rest of Shinra on Ryquendë's origins. Elfé's file had her previous AVALANCHE activities as well as Hojo's notes on her experimentation, but who she'd been before being placed on Hojo's table was unknown. Cloud had a small file as well. His name, and close connection to Elfé were noted, though not Cloud and Vincent's relationship which wasn't as well known.

"Hojo, we meet again," Vincent purred.

Hojo's beady eyes laughed at him, but Vincent did not release the gag to hear the scientist's mocking words. Hojo would know true fear soon enough, if the man was not too far gone to insanity. "I have been waiting a _long _time for this reunion. But you know that don't you? You know why we're here. You know what sins you have committed. I think you've enjoyed life twenty-four years too long."

Chaos's laugh was vicious and slightly unhinged as he stepped forward to help Vincent begin. Vincent's eyes shone with their own maniacal light.

Thirteen hours later, the two Hands of Vengeance watched as monsters tore what remained of the scientist apart. When they'd taken their fill of torturing Hojo, they staked the man into the barren sand of the wastes and watched as the scorching heat, hunger, thirst, and blood loss ravaged Hojo until even his whimpers had trailed off. When the monsters found him, he'd not even been able to scream.

As Vincent watched the monsters feast on Hojo's flesh, he was left feeling empty. The quenchless fire of revenge had consumed his life for so many years, but now he'd taken it he felt nothing. Blood-red eyes turned to watch the sun's light creep over the ugly Midgar wastes, and he wondered if anything would ever fill this hollowness again.

"Thou art troubled, my human." Chaos's deep rumble pulled his eyes to simmering yellow. Vincent gave a small shrug. "A person cannot live on hate. One can survive as I did for years uncounted, but that was not living."

"It feels so meaningless," Vincent finally admitted. "So long I've…but what's left now?"

"It is not meaningless. The deaths of many have been avenged this day, and was this not justice as well? The cockroach had to be killed for more than past sins; he would never have stopped."

"I am tired," the words came unbidden, but once they hit the air he knew their truth in his bones.

Chaos looked at him, really looked at him. "Thou hast found the end then. I wondered if there was an end…" he trailed off.

"An end?"

"To vengeance, to hate."

"There is still hate, but perhaps vengeance…" Vincent confessed softly. "I would like to reach the end."

"As would I, but I have not found it yet." They rested in comfortable silence before Chaos turned to him again, mischief in his eyes. "We have done a noble deed this day."

"Noble? I cut off his cock, and his tongue." Vincent replied with a raised brow.

"Yes, but think of the evil deeds the man could have done-"

"I'd rather not." Vincent cut him off, his mouth twitching.

Chaos flashed his fangs in a grin. "Come, we have another Continent to conquer, and thy human child will be anxious to hear of thy miraculous survival."

"It was not miraculous." The gunman grumbled as he looped his arms around the demon's neck, finding the position more easily this time.

"Oh, but it was," Chaos breathed in his ear. "The little girl Turk almost had thee, my human. I feared thy demise by clumsy baton work."

"Hum," Vincent snored, trying not to smile. He felt the pleased rumble in Chaos's chest. "Flying with you is far more dangerous than crashing the Shinra President's dinner parties, any day."

"Art thou complaining about my flying, human?"

"Of course."

"I took thy delicate sensibilities into account before, but for that I think we'll just have to do some _real _flying." Vincent swallowed nervously, but couldn't help a flutter of anticipation as they shot heavenward.

* * *

><p>Note: The original idea to call the CNO Turks, Hands, came from <em>A Song of Ice and Fire<em>, and the position of King's Hand. The King's Hand has little in common with the CNO Hands, but it is worth acknowledging the reference.


	5. A General's Ransom

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 5: A General's Ransom

His hands slid for purchase on the sword's hilt made slick with blood: hot blood on his skin, splattered in his silver hair, a sweet wine in his mouth. The bodies kept coming and coming, offering themselves before him like lambs for slaughter, and slaughter them he did. The Masamune cut through soft yielding flesh. Obscene sounds filled the darkness, the beauty of their faces, frozen in awe, confusion, disbelief that death found them so easily.

Sephiroth woke from the dream/nightmare, as an orgasm ripped through him. The whore let the cock slide out of his mouth, swallowing Sephiroth's seed as he offered him a smug smile.

"Get out." The whore shrugged, face passing into boredom, before climbing from the General's bed and shrugging on his clothes.

Sephiroth waited until he heard the sound of his apartment door clicking shut before reaching into the bedside table and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He inhaled a long draw, catching it deep in his belly. He hated the taste of the things, but they offered some small comfort to his tense nerves. He'd started smoking to piss Hojo off, the scientist had thrown a lovely tantrum about the damage they did to his 'perfect' specimen. Hojo was dead now, but Sephiroth liked to think he could still piss the man off in his grave.

There were many things Sephiroth did and didn't do because it would upset the scientist. He found himself slightly off balance with the man's sudden demise, and didn't like thinking about how Hojo still controlled his life. He wished he could have killed the man himself, why hadn't he?

Hojo's death had affected his life, and yet not at all. He still danced to Shinra's tune like a good dog, and pretended to everyone but himself that he was in control. He was control. The ice General, perfection incarnate, untouchable. All a myth, his reality was his own powerlessness. His only control came from controlling others, and he did that often enough, it helped keep up the illusion of power. If he had power over others then maybe he wouldn't feel so damn helpless. Life, for Sephiroth, was a lesson in being used. He'd thought it would end when he'd escaped the labs, it hadn't. He thought he'd have freedom when he became General, he was still Shinra's slave in all but name. He thought he'd have control when Hojo was dead, maybe he had a little more now, but not enough.

Hollander didn't have the courage to call him in for 'tests' like Hojo had. He'd thought, in some naïve dream of childhood, that if he just escaped Hojo, the labs, he would be _happy_. He scoffed at the thought and crushed the half-smoked cigarette out. Throwing the soiled sheets off him, he walked naked to the bathroom. He measured out his daily dose of pills, if only Hojo could see him now. Perfect specimen indeed, he couldn't even make it through the day without suffering violent mood swings, including homicidal rages. He wondered if he was insane yet.

There had been no psychiatrist session for the great General Sephiroth where he 'talked' about his problems, no trips to the lab for the brain scans Hojo would have no doubt put him under, he couldn't afford to let anyone know of his weaknesses, his imperfection. He'd ordered the medication off-line, anonymous, just another man suffering from mood swings, but he wasn't any other man.

People worshiped him like a god, stalked his steps, watching, always watching, perhaps waiting for him to fall. He'd split the world into those who wanted to be him, those who wanted to use him (as a lab experiment, mass murderer, or fuck), and those who wanted to break him and see if he was human enough to bleed red. Only Angeal and Genesis did not fit into the world order. He was sure they wanted to use him, and they had too, but they had given him something back as well, and he'd eventually named them those elusive things called friends.

The last pill bottle was stowed deftly away, and slit green eyes rose to the bathroom mirror. Beautiful they called him, wanting to touch, and take, and crush. If he was beautiful then it was as ice and steel are. All he saw were slit pupils (unnatural), hair the appropriate color of his sword, and the face of a monster who had killed thousands and been worshiped for it. Killed until he couldn't stop, until he dreamed about death in the night.

He'd dreamed of death and blood since he was a child; he couldn't remember a time of innocence. The first memory he had was of killing a man. He'd been nine –no memories of his early childhood survived, either he'd repressed their horrors or suffered amnesia, a common side-effect of Mako Poisoning—but he was sure it hadn't been his first kill. He'd felt no shock, no horror, as his short sword stole a man's life. He remembered Hojo looking at him with gleeful eyes, and being pleased he'd found the scientist's approval. Before he started doing things to thwart the scientist, he'd done them to please him, desperate for approval.

When he was fourteen they shipped him out to Wutai. They'd called him SOLDIER First Class, but it meant nothing to him then, just a title they assigned the boy fresh out of the labs. He hadn't understood the difference between an enemy combatant and a Wutainese civilian, they'd both been enemy in his mind. They'd called him Demon. He couldn't remember any of the faces of the men he'd killed, but the children, the children he remembered.

Sephiroth didn't know when secret nightmares of a thousand murders became daytime fantasies. He could have been fifteen or eighteen, time during the war seemed to flow differently. He'd been outside, trying to escape the oppressive heat of the Wutainese dry season, sharpening Masamune with long precise movements. He came back from a daydream of the last battle, recalling the feel of flesh parting before his blade like a woman spreading her legs, to find himself aroused. He'd come with a few sure strokes, and then he'd been sick.

He still had the dreams, but found the fantasies had lessened in the last several months, whether it was from the medication or because this was the longest break he'd had from war in the ten years of fighting, he didn't know. The mood swings had gotten worse though, and after one memorable board meeting where he'd nearly beheaded the President, he'd ordered the medication. If only the President knew how homicidal his 'perfect' weapon was. The pills had brought numbness. All the time. He felt nothing. He thought Angeal had noticed something was wrong, but the man had yet to confront him. If Genesis was here he'd no doubt marvel how the 'stick up his ass' had managed to lodge itself any further up. A few more whores had made it into his bed, and the simulation room overheated most afternoons when he tore into monsters and imaginary humans, all the while longing for Wutai. Sweet Wutai, where the blood ran dark and tasted of the land's exotic spices.

It would be months before he could return. Genesis had taken his place, taken his men, and would take the war he'd been fighting for ten years. But he was welcome too it, if only Sephiroth could feel the rush of battle again, and he would soon. He was being sent to clean up the mess Genesis had made with the rebels. It was a few years too late, but that was Shinra's way, too blinded by their own asses too see death crouching at their door, until it crashed a dinner party.

A week after Hojo's disappearance and supposed death, Sephiroth had been pulled from Wutai. A body had never been recovered, but he'd read Valentine's file before and knew Hojo received a fittingly gruesome end. When Scarlet was killed in Junon the Board had stuttered about and blamed the 'lucky' rebel hit on poor security. Hojo had been taken from the same house the President gorged himself in. It appeared to take a 'personal experience' for Shinra to get its head out of its ass and realize the rebel problem wasn't going to go away. The entire Western Continent had fallen, and the Northern cities were up in arms. Sephiroth had a lot of work ahead.

Genesis was an admirable Commander of SOLDIER; his men were devoted to him and would follow him to hell and back. Genesis was _no_t a suitable Commander for the Shinra regular troopers, though. He looked down on everyone but SOLDIER, and made no secret of it. The infantry knew how the SOLDIERs despised them, and saw how the Commander shuffled them over to make way for SOLDIERs even when there weren't enough of them to get the job done. Shinra couldn't afford to isolate its regulars, not when a third of those men's family homes had fallen into rebel hands, with families and friends who opened their arms to the rebels. That started questions and would end in desertions.

Sephiroth was marching to war with split forces; regulars who resented SOLDIERs and SOLDIERs who considered regular troopers inferior. He needed Angeal. With Angeal by his side he could unite his men before beginning a pronged attack on the Western Continent, but Angeal had not seen the frontlines in two years.

Death changed people. Sephiroth didn't think Angeal's near death experience had made him into a better SOLDIER or man. Angeal buried his head in the sand after his long recovery –stationing himself in Midgar, training new SOLDIERs, dealing with monster problems, and petty Midgar terrorists. He'd taken an apprentice, the famous puppy Genesis liked to complain about. Sephiroth had yet to meet Fair, but he couldn't see how training and _hiding_ made up for months of Angeal pushing his duties as Commander unto the shoulders of his friends.

Sephiroth had heard of the demon who nearly cost his friend his life, and in his opinion, his balls too. He'd read the creature's file. He'd read all the rebel's files, though their leader Ryquendë's file had been suspiciously empty. Name, and known rebel activities and battles fought. No pictures, no history, nothing. Sephiroth suspected the Turks were keeping information from him, but why?

The demon's file had no pictures either, just a description –probably exaggerated. The creature was powerful, inhumanly so, with wings and claws; yet it was intelligent by all accounts. He'd never known a monster to hold human intelligence. Hojo was suspect in his opinion, though the scientist had fervently denied responsibility before his death. The creature was most likely an escaped experiment. Whatever the beast was, it had struck the fear of Gaia into Angeal.

Sephiroth moved back into the bedroom and pulled on his customary leathers. He didn't care what Angeal's problem was; SOLDIER needed its Commander, and it was time he stopped running. Sephiroth needed Angeal with him if he wanted to quell the rebellion by Shinra's impatient timeline. After buckling his shoulder armor on, he headed for the door, determined to do or say whatever was necessary to bring Angeal back into the war and by his side.

…

Dawn shook the sky as Sephiroth gave the order to attack. North Coral lay open to them, and his army would take her like Shinra soldiers claimed Wutai; raping her, spilling the juices of her body and blood upon Gaia's merciless breast. They would strike hard and fast. The rebel's main northern force still cooled its heels in Rocket Town, and would not come in time to save Coral. Shinra only needed a foothold in the continent before they could begin pouring troops in. North Coral had an impressive landing strip, and was the principle city of the Western Continent, rich in population as well as resources, making it an ideal northern base. Angeal was heading a twin invasion force by sea into the sleepy town of Costa Del Sol. Turk reports put the coastal town as an easy conquest. Only a small rebel force guarded a town full of dissatisfied civilians ready to welcome Shinra back into their beds, with the promised soft comfort of mako run life.

Sephiroth was leading the southern wing of his army's charge. They had only breached the outlaying homes when he knew something had not gone according to plan. An army awaited them, an army that should not have been here, eagerly greeting the Shinra troops with savage bullet-kisses. Shinra knew it had a leak, had known the rebels were surprisingly well informed about Shinra troop movements, but this… the Turks were slipping to miss a breach of this magnitude. This invasion had been of the highest classification. His soldiers had not even known their destination until an hour before drop. Sephiroth forced himself not to think about leaks, and should-have-beens. He had an army to defeat and a city to win; their blood was calling to him.

Sephiroth was cutting through some mako enhanced rebels (and hadn't that little development sent the corporate high-ups into a frenzy) when he saw her. He _never_ lost his focus in battle, to do so would court death, but the mane of glinting silver hair snatched his eye. The flicker of split-pupiled eyes caused his sword to falter. His breath caught. She was like _him_. A thousand thoughts scrambled for purchase in his frozen brain, flicking through and out in an instant. And then there was a flap of leathery wings and eyes glowing like the sun, his mind sluggish as he fought to get his sword up and block the blow, and then blackness swallowed him.

…

Green eyes cracked open and a hand reached reflexively to cradle an aching head. Chains arrested his arm's travel, clinking warningly in the dim light. Sephiroth assessed his condition. He was chained to a wall in a cell, but his body seemed to be unhurt except for a pounding headache. He tested his mako strength against the chain. They were magically enhanced –not surprising. A high window let in a spill of light, and he estimated he'd been out for a few hours. His stomach's sudden complaint upset this theory though. It took him longer than the average SOLDIER to require sustenance. The sun still rode high in the sky, so he concluded he'd been knocked out for at least a day.

Sephiroth closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the cell wall. His men, the battle, he had no way of knowing how any of them fared. The great General Sephiroth defeated by a woman. He began to laugh and after a moment it turned slightly hysterical, if only he could see Genesis's face when he heard. The laugher choked off and his mood plummeted abruptly. The rebels had him, no doubt they would torture him for information –that didn't bother him so much, pain was an old lover—but he wasn't ready to die. They might try to ransom him, but they didn't know Shinra like he did. He was a broken weapon now, at Shinra damaged blades got thrown out, not taken to the sword smith to re-forge. Shinra might offer a penance for his return, but not whatever the rebels thought they might be able to get out of him, and then he'd be killed. He felt like killing something, maybe the President, maybe the whole world. Gaia, he needed his pills, or maybe a woman's cunt, his sword would do too with a whole army spread out before him. He really was mad.

The cell door creaking open interrupted his thoughts. Spikes reaching to the sun like mountain peaks, swirling mako-blue eyes, the boy's name was on the corner of his mind. Cloud Strife. What had the child's file said? Sephiroth ran through the little he remembered about Strife as the boy set a tray of food on the floor before toeing it within Sephiroth's reach. Sephiroth raised a brow at the cautious behavior, and Strife shrugged as if to say 'I am not stupid you know.'

The chains about Sephiroth's wrists clinked in annoyance as he slowly pulled the tray closer. He examined the meager offering for a moment before sipping on the water.

The boy was staring at him, but he was used to people watching him. Finally, as Sephiroth ladled surprisingly good soup into his mouth, the boy spoke. "You lost the battle, but you probably figured that out by now."

The child's voice was soft like cream, Sephiroth decided he liked it. Ignoring the boy's questionable information, he decided to play with the child a bit. If the boy wanted to come and gloat at the fallen General, then let him. "How old are you boy?"

The boy only blinked at him, "fourteen."

"You've been with the rebels what, two years?"

"Something like that."

"Awfully young to go to war."

"Are we trading Child Soldier stories now?"

Ah. Sephiroth smirked, and the boy settled himself on the cold floor across from him, just outside his reach. Sephiroth noted the two swords strapped to the boy's back; it was unfortunate the boy was not cocky like so many others would be if they had the great General Sephiroth chained at their feet.

Strife was staring at him again, Sephiroth let the boy open this round. "She'll be here soon. She'll come. You're too powerful for her to resist."

Sephiroth gave him what he wanted, "Who boy?"

"Ryquendë. I hear you saw her at the battle."

Sephiroth's pulse skipped, but his face showed nothing, "The woman with silver hair?"

"Yeah, that's her." Sephiroth resisted the temptation to ask more. Unfortunately when the boy continued it wasn't to give more information on the woman who so intrigued the General. "Bet you were surprised to see us here. In Coral."

"A bit."

"Commander Hewley was pretty surprised too." His eye twitched. The child's face was void of the smug satisfaction he expected to find there. "Your Turks aren't too good are they?"

"Your, what do you call them, Hands? Have some talent. I am sure Veld would be interested."

"I'm sure he would, but I don't think any of them would be interested in defecting." Money could buy loyalty, and Shinra had a lot of money, but Sephiroth kept his opinion to himself. He leaned lazily back against the wall again. "He's not hurt, your friend Hewley. He got most of the army back to your ships, I hear. Didn't put up much of a fight when Elfé's army showed up, wonder why that is?"

Growing tired of the game he asked, "Why are you telling me this? Shouldn't you run along and play toy soldier somewhere?"

Strife smiled vacantly, the expression was slightly disturbing on a child's face. "She's coming."

"Well if I don't survive the interrogation I'll be sure to let you know."

"She'll make you talk, if she wants, but she won't have to lay a hand on you to do it."

"No, she has her Hands to do that for her." Sephiroth mocked.

"No," the boy continued, unaffected. "If she wants information you'll tell her, and no one will have to hurt you to get it. But she's not coming for that."

"Enough of the riddles boy, either you say what you want or leave." The boy was…strange. The words caused an ominous shiver down his spine.

"She wants you to serve her. She wants your loyalty."

"Well if she names a good price…" Sephiroth let the scornful words trail off. It wasn't worth thinking about. He wasn't for sale, Shinra had already bought him, or rather, bred him. A master he knew was better than one he didn't.

Mako-blue eyes cut into him like knives. "Oh, it will be. Whatever you most desire, but I don't think you want to pay _her_ price. She is very good you know." Sephiroth wanted to point out that he didn't know, but bit his cheek. "She's good at manipulating people."

"You sound like you admire her." Sephiroth threw out, tired of the boy's games.

"I do. I love her." Well, he hadn't been expecting that. "And I hate her. I dream about cutting out her perfect smile and lying tongue. I dream about her holding me, telling me she loves me." Strife's eyes were lit with a manic fire. "I know her better than anyone else alive." He rose to his feet, preparing to leave. "I just wanted to tell you to be careful."

"Why?"

"I used to collect pictures of you when I was a kid, just like a thousand other kids. I wanted to be just like you, but now I think I am a little too much like you." Sephiroth stared; a sad little smile curved the boy's pink lips. "Us Child Soldiers have to stick together, right?"

Sephiroth didn't have a chance to reply, not that he knew what he'd say to that, as the door opened again admitting a tall silver-haired woman. A frown marred Ryquendë's brow as she caught sight of Strife. "What are you doing here?"

"Vincent sent me. I wonder what you're doing here, Ryquendë. I doubt Chaos would approve." The soft voice gave away none of the turbulent feelings the boy claimed to hold for his charismatic leader.

Silver eyes lit with rage as the woman hissed out, "It's none of the demon's business what I do, I do not take orders from him!" The anger was smoothed away as quickly as it had come and the woman turned to Sephiroth, giving him smile that did not reach her eyes. "I have come to see my son." He felt his eyes widen at the implication of those words.

"Your son? That's the first I've heard of it, though I do recall you saying a filthy human would never be your son."

"You must have misheard me, my little vessel," she dismissed.

Strife stiffened, "Do not call me that, witch."

"I only say it to remind you of the precious time we spent together. I have not forgotten. You still dwell in my heart and a place at my side is still waiting for you." The boy's nostrils flared and a muscle in his jaw began jumping from the strength of his clenching. "And now look at you! How you've grown, my little Weapon. Almost a man now, think of what _new_ pleasures we could share together."

She reached out to touch him, but the boy slapped her away. "You disgust me."

Her gentle smile twisted into a snarl. "You have refused me for the last time, slave! You forget all you owe me!"

"I own you _nothing_." He spun towards the cell door, throwing over his shoulder, "Chaos will hear of this, witch."

Ryquendë slithered forward like a snake, catching her escaping prey by the arm. "All I ever wanted was for us to be together. I loved you like my own son, and you abandoned me."

The steel melted from mako eyes, the boy did not turn back, but his head tilted as if of its own accord to hear the yearned for words. "Come back to me, my child. Sweet brave boy, you know how proud I am of you? So strong you have become, a true heir of Talahali."

His head snapped around, eyes blazing. "Yes, Talahali the Great War Lord: The Monster," he snarled. "Do you think I have forgotten those 'gifts' of memories? Talahali was a brutal murderer, and if I am like him then it is _your _doing."

"Yes, it was _mine_." Her fingers sunk like claws into the boy's arm. "I made you what you are. I molded you into a Weapon. You would be _nothing_ without me, a sniveling child clinging to his mother's skirts."

"Whatever you gave me was not given freely. I have paid, and paid, am still paying for everything you so _graciously_ bestowed." He jerked at her hold on him. "Let me go. We shall see how Chaos-"

"Always that demon! He will not get in my way this time." An unfamiliar power now shimmered about the woman. "The demon is too busy to be bothered with such a little matter. Let us forget it, you must be tired-"

Strife threw her violently off him. Metal rang threateningly in the cell as he drew one of his swords. "Get out of my head, witch," his voice was dark and looming as a thundercloud.

"You would raise weapon to me, your queen? Will you hurt me now, little vessel, make me bleed?"

The boy faltered, "Just stay back." He inched for the door.

Coiled magic surged out of Ryquendë, and when she spoke her voice was power. "You disappoint me slave. Now tell me what you will do?"

Strife's eyes were glassy, "Your will, my Lady. I am yours too command."

"That's right," she caressed his cheek in a parody of a mother's touch. "You are feeling very tired, my little vessel. I want you to go to your room and sleep. You will forget all this nonsense about the demon, hum? He can be such a meddlesome beast. Now, do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lady. I shall go to my room and sleep." Strife's voice carried the hollowness of the dead.

"Good boy."

Sephiroth watched in shock as Strife walked quickly from the cell, blank eyes never turning from his path. He licked suddenly dry lips. The woman/witch turned back to him again, sugary false smile hitched upon her mouth. His empty hand curled into a fist, longing for the beloved, reassuring weight of his sword.

"Now we are alone at last my son." Her hand reached for his hair, but he caught it in a vice grip. No-one touched him without his permission: no-one but dead men. Unfamiliar words dropped from her lips, and her hand slipped from his grasp like smoke. He felt a cold sweat breakout on his brow. Death he could face, and torture too, but this…this _power_ was unknown, and only a fool wouldn't fear it.

"Do you know who I am?" She reached for him again and he passively allowed her to fondle his hair. Green eyes watched her, ready to strike, he could break that delicate neck, or would she slip through his fingers again?

"No."

"You might know me better by the name Jenova."

"Jenova?" Impossible. His mother was dead and this woman was too young to have birthed him. But…but she looked like him, didn't she? "If your words are true then tell me where you have been all my life." He challenged.

"Hojo imprisoned me for many years, but now I am free and we are together at last, my son." His body was still coiled tight as a spring, not ready to accept her words as true. A strange, foreign presence slithered into his mind. Panic bloomed in his chest, sending shock waves of mako-laced blood pumping through his body. Honed fighting instincts screamed at him to fight, fight, fight, but he didn't know how to fend off such an attack.

"Hush now, mother is here. I will never leave you." A gentle hand on his cheek, and he found himself leaning into the touch. It felt good, and why not accept his mother's touch?

He felt confused but never more loved. His mind reached towards the comfort and warmth like a desperate child. Tears he had never before shed welled up, overcome by the emotions tumbling through him. Love. Acceptance. Comfort. Peace. But even as he reached for these promises he pulled back. A thought in the back of his mind whispered that this was false, lies. He did not want to believe it, didn't want to turn away from the bounty offered, but blank blue eyes suddenly flashed in his memory. He heard_ her_ voice, mother's voice, calling someone son, calling them_ slave_. The precious love began slipping away, and he felt like a swimmer stretching toward the water's surface. Closer. Closer. Air just a kick away…

"Forget about him, my son. He is nothing. We are together-" The slippery words broke off abruptly as the cell door banged open again. Sephiroth caught a vague impression of red and black as he struggled to throw the weakening presence from his mind.

"What are you doing here witch? Where is Cloud?" The man's voice was rich and seasoned like fine wine.

Sephiroth broke the water's surface, his head cleared, and angry and betrayal surged up. What had his…mother done to him? Whatever it was he hated it. The very thoughts in his head had been violated, the deepest desires of his heart paraded before him in a mocking parody. Not even to himself had he admitted these dark desires –these needs. Childish fantasies long out-gown, he had thought. Love? It didn't exist. And yet he hungered for it in the depths of his soul. His greatest desire, the boy had said, how true; he'd desired those things so much he'd not even been able to admit them to himself. He felt raw and hollow. He wanted to cry. Cry and cry until this hole in his soul was forgotten and he could go back to being the ice-cold General. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to feel. He felt cheated and used. Raped: mind and soul.

Hate, hate, hate. A sunburst of rage exploded through him.

Her hands were still touching him, making his skin crawled. A feral snarl brimming with everything he could not say, ripped from his throat. Chained hands surged up, wrapping about the ivory throat and _squeezing_. Kill. Kill. Kill. Taste the blood of enemy, feel its hot cleansing liquid on his hands, his face, his tongue. But she was not there, already eluding his grasp; cheating him, teasing him like she'd teased him with unattainable love and acceptance. No one could love a monster. He should know, he hated himself enough.

The Betrayer's silver eyes watched him warily from across the room, one slender hand circling her bruised neck. Sephiroth bared his teeth at her and screamed his hate. He pulled at the chains, desperate to make her suffer and extract a thousand times the pain she'd given him.

"I'll KILL you! You BITCH! Fucking cunt! I am going to rip you apart, do you hear me? I'll tear out your heart and eat it, cut you up piece by piece and feed you to the dogs! Your life is MINE! I'll never forgive you, never forget!"

He collapsed back against the wall, arms screaming from his straining at the chains. Sobs tore at his throat, bubbling up from his decimated heart. It hurt. So much. A crazed laugh mixed with the sobs, he wished he had his fucking pills; he was a mess.

"He's insane," Gaia, he wanted to make that voice scream.

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! Do not question me human-"

"Chaos is on his way, he'll deal with you, witch."

"Used your unnatural mind-link to call your master, did you?"

Silence. "Why did you come here? You know he was not yours to touch."

"I came to visit my son, surly every mother has that right."

"He's not your son."

"They are _my_ cells-"

"Which you made perfectly clear did not make him your son. It was not you who bore him-"

"He has my looks though! And my power. If I denied him before it was only natural, given the nature of his birth, but now that I have seen him, seen how-"

"Useful he could be?"

Silence.

The voices seemed far away. The tears had not lasted long, and now there was only detached numbness left as he listed to the voices argue. Careful movements tucked silver strains back behind his ears, shaky hands smoothed out his rumbled leather cloak with precise economical movements. Back straitening, he desperately clung to his General mask. It could all be dealt with later, he could analyze every last fucking detail of how he had been broken, but not now, not now. He was a prisoner in an enemy cell, a prisoner who had just shown an unforgivable weakness before his captors. Secure again behind his icy persona, Sephiroth turned his attention back to his captors.

If he had been acting like a SOLDIER and not a love sick child, he would have recognized Vincent Valentine, Hojo's executioner, immediately. Jeweled eyes, thick ebony hair, trademark red-cloak, massive gun, shyly hiding gauntlet, the man was hard to forget. Valentine and…the witch, had fallen into a waiting silence. Sephiroth, for all his false control, could not bring his eyes to linger on the woman. He didn't want to see her, didn't want to hear her. Didn't want to remember….he had sworn to kill her, he was good at keeping his promises.

The clink of metal boots announced the demon's arrival. Sephiroth let his eyes run slowly, appraisingly over the creature. Human like and yet not: massive bat wings sprouting from its back, a crown of crimson that could be hair or feathers, smoldering gold eyes revealing the intelligent mind beneath, and a face handsome in its striking strangeness.

The demon brushed Valentine's shoulder in passing, and Sephiroth noted the comfortable familiarity between the two. Fire-gold eyes swept over his stiff form before settling on Ryquendë.

"Oath breaker," the growled words said everything, and told Sephiroth nothing.

Ryquendë tossed her head, nostrils flaring, and eyes flashing wildly as a mad stallion's. "The human is unharmed," she dismissed. "I had the right to see my s-"

"You have no rights here, witch." Valentine's voice was rich with resentment.

"And you do? Taking that human whore to bed does not make him_ your_ seed." She needled with a fanged smile. Sephiroth's eyes flickered over Valentine's face, but it never shifted from its cool blank stare.

"Enough," the demon demanded. "The Magic and Planet will judge thee, oath breaker." Clawed hands stretched up to heaven. "Magic, we witnesses stand before thee, demanding justice be brought upon this oath breaker."

A heavy presence infused the air, holding the weight of a hundred summer storms. The hair on the back of Sephiroth's neck stood to attention. The air had eyes, and they saw and judged.

He let a pent breath escape his lungs when the eerie moment receded, leaving only the four now silent witnesses behind. Ryquendë looked unchanged and unpunished, though for once her face lay naked of its customary haughty expression. Sephiroth wondered what her broken oath contained, but it paled in comparison to his now burning need to discover where all these unknown powers were coming from.

"Magic has judged," the demon's dark voice split the breathing silence. "And found thee guilty, faithless one. Thou used mind magics against one thou swore an oath not to touch." A sharp claw pointed at Sephiroth. "The Magic knows, and measured the weight of thy sin against this human. Thirty days Magic will hide itself from thee, and thou wilt be defenseless as he was defenseless. Thirty days thy tongue shall be silenced as thou silenced him. Magic has judged."

The witch made to protest, angry lines molding her mouth, but no sound came. Her eyes widened in shock at the evidence of her punishment.

"The Planet, too, had measured thy crime and judged it great. The Planet saw the soul wound thou hast inflicted upon this human, and has stripped thy stolen immortality from thy own soul. When thy current body dies thy spirit will return to the Lifestream, though the Promised Land is forever bared to thee for past sins. Thy soul is now tied to thy body, when it dies so shall thee."

Ryquendë's hands rose to claw at the air, a silent scream of denial upon her lips. Sephiroth could not comprehend the undeniable power he had witnessed, nor fathom the idea of immortality, but he did understand that some power –this Magic, the Planet—had punished Ryquendë for her violation of him.

The Wutainese worshiped the Planet along with other gods, but he had never seen any evidence of it answering their prayers. He did not believe in gods –the only god was death—nor had he believed the Planet to be any more then the earth beneath his feet. He did not like having his logical beliefs shaken. He'd grown up surrounded by science, been raised to see science nearly as a god, Hojo certainly worshiped it thus. When he had gone to war he embraced a new god, death. But whatever had been in the room with them a moment ago –and he knew power had breathed beside mortals in this tinny gummy cells—was completely alien to him. Well, he would still bring his own god down upon his violator. Welcome to mortality witch.

Ryquendë had fled the room, looking much diminished to his eyes. The demon's taunting words to beware of crossed humans, and clouds seeking vengeance in the night, chasing her heels.

"Do you think she hurt Cloud?" Valentine asked the demon. The creature gave him a look that seemed to mean something to the gunman, for his mouth pulled down in displeasure.

"She did her…mind magic on the boy." Sephiroth offered, pleased to hear how cool and detached his own voice sounded. No one would have guessed what this last hour had wrought within him. "He appeared almost hypnotized and left with her orders to sleep."

"Oh, we will have a very angry human child in the morning." The demon seemed quite pleased with this. Valentine looked more worried than pleased.

The demon glided closer to Sephiroth, yellow eyes examining him like a curious bug. "Thou wert clumsy in battle, Shinra General."

Sephiroth stared at him, not rising to the bait. The demon cocked its head, and leaned closer. Sephiroth could have touched him, but he did not; killing the creature would serve no purpose even if he could achieve it, which, given all he had seen since awaken in his cell, he might not. The demon seemed to be sniffing him, before drawing back and looking over one armored shoulder at the silently watching Valentine. "Art thou sure he is not thy son, they scent is all over him."

Valentine's whole body jerked, bloody eyes sweeping quickly up and down Sephiroth's body. "I do not…"

Sephiroth's own gaze bore into the ex-Turk, sharp and blunt as an axe. His father? He knew Hojo had experimented on the man, it had been in his file, but he was not going to be fooled by a 'new' parent again. "I seem to have family crawling out of the woodwork today." He drawled.

A faint flush dusted Valentine's pale cheeks, and the demon let out a rumbling chuckle. "I will leave thee with him, my human." He tossed at Valentine, clawed fingers brushing the tatter red-cape in passing. Sephiroth raised an eye brow at the seemingly comforting gesture.

The two men stared at each other in silence after the demon's departure. Sephiroth refused to look away from the unnatural ruby eyes. Slowly the gunman approached, the tinkle of metal-toed boots filling the silence. The man squatted down, keeping a considerable distance between them. Sephiroth got the impression the man had an abnormally large personal space.

"What do you know of the Jenova Project?" Valentine's voice was clinically dethatched, as if trying to separate himself from whatever he intended to reveal.

"Hojo told me my mother's name was Jenova, and that…woman claimed to be her." Sephiroth kept his breathing even, emotions and new scars, all locked away.

"Jenova is the name Shinra scientists gave the Ancient they unearthed at the Northern Crater. Ryquendë was that Ancient, but she was not your mother. The Jenova Project was the study of the Ancient Jenova. Hojo, Gast, and a number of other scientists worked on it….including your mother Lucrecia Crescent." A pause. "Hojo took the Project in a new direction, wanting to experiment using Jenova cells, mako, and humans. You were the product of those experiments as was the entire SOLDIER program." Red eyes watched him, Sephiroth refused to look away. He'd always known he was different, but this?

He forced his clenched jaw to open, refusing to allow any emotion to carry over to his voice, it came out colder then he'd intended. "My mother used me as an experiment, and I have that witch's cells in me, that almost makes her my mother too. Neither one seem like people worth knowing. I suppose she's dead then, my birth mother?"

Valentine remained silent for a long moment, and then something shifted in his face and the cool detachment broke. "I have never met another woman like her, Lucrecia. She was beautiful as an angel, you have her face shape, her mouth…" a breath. "Lucrecia was fiercely intelligent, truly brilliant, and she knew it too, once she decided on something there was no changing her mind. She was also dangerously ambitions. She was captivating, utterly intoxicating like a drug, I think I might have fallen in love with the devil where I saw an angel." Bitterness wrung Valentine's mouth. "When it came to science, and Shinra's ladder of success, she was ruthless. There were no morals, no limits to what she would sacrifice, even her own child. I like to think she regretted what she did in the end, that she loved you and tried to save you from all she'd wrought. Maybe Hojo killed her when she got in his way, I don't know how she died. Whether the Jenova cells ate away at her body until she embraced death, or she died trying to atone for her sins, I don't think I'll ever know."

Valentine fell silent, leaving Sephiroth to stare blankly at the wall. He had wanted to know what kind of woman would offer her own child into Hojo's clutches, and now he did.

"When I first discovered she was pregnant, I asked her if you were mine. I had some foolishly naïve dream about us running away together, leaving the Turks, the Project, Shinra, raising our child in some absurd little country town." A mocking, bitter laugh escaped Valentine's lips. "She told me you were Hojo's, a smart more since she planned to use you in a science experiment. I had more power in Shinra than a lab assistant did. They could have found another child to use, but I never challenged the truth of her words. She was perfection, and something that perfect couldn't lie, not about that. When Hojo and Lucrecia were done with me, I should have crawled out of that coffin and killed every scientist who'd touched you, my son or not, but I didn't. I didn't, and I will never forgive myself for it."

The gunman stood abruptly, burning eyes sliding away from Sephiroth's searching stare. Sephiroth opened his mouth, intending to ask he knew not what, just something, perhaps demand to know if any of this was true. He wanted, wanted…but held back, to recently burned by his supposed 'mother.' Valentine's voice spoke truer than any words, that kind of regret couldn't be faked. But Valentine was leaving, the weight of unforgiven sins clinging to his shoulders, and Sephiroth let him go without a word.

….

Three months, twenty one days, he'd been locked in this cell, prisoner to these chains; he was the rebel's last prisoner. Thirty-seven SOLDIERs and over seven-hundred Shinra regular troops had been captured at the battle with him, they were all long dead now. When Shinra refused to negotiate the soldier's release from 'terrorists,' the rebels had killed them. They didn't have thirty-seven cells and enhanced chains to hold the super SOLIDERs, nor enough of their own enhanced Knights to prevent escapes. So the SOLDIERs had been the first to die when Shinra refused to negotiate. Then the captive infantry men had been slaughtered like pigs. Not enough food to feed them, no POW camps waiting to hold them (the rebels didn't usually take prisoners), and not enough rebel troops to guard seven-hundred men. The rebels could have found a way to guard and feed them if they'd really tried, but why should they? He understood and done the same himself with Wutainese prisoners; POWs were of no use if their governments placed no value on them (or in the case of Wutai were too proud to negotiate with Shinra). The blame lay at Shinra's feet, and he was not the only one to put it there.

Citizens, not fooled by Shinra's wartime propaganda and long dissatisfied with its corruption and their less than ideal lives, coupled with an army a hair's-breath from mutiny, had led to the President's fall. When the President died of sudden heart failure there were few who cared if the death had been less than natural, even in the upper Shinra ranks.

Rufus had little trouble seizing control after his father's conveniently sudden death. He had a cunning and cruelly intelligent mind. Shinra had become _weak_, and they knew it. Rufus had taken the steps to shore up the leaking hull of its empire. They needed an end to the two draining wars, and peace with rebels who were eating up their lands. Shinra wanted peace, until they had the strength to begin the war again on its own terms. A cease-fire was called and negotiations would commence within the week. The rebel army was tired after two years of fighting. Wutai –for all its pride—knew it was fighting a lost war, and the driving force behind the rebel army, Ryquendë, had become cautious over the last few months. Death was a god, and she had to worship him now or pay the price.

Sephiroth supposed he would be returned to his old masters by the end of the peace talks. While he would enjoy the freedom from this cell, the freedom to hold his sword in his hands and dance with the god of war, he would be losing another type of freedom. He'd become Shinra's collard dog again and need pills just to get through the day. His imprisonment had forcibly removed him from his medications; the first week off the addictive pills had been hell. If he'd thought the violent mood swings were bad before, it was nothing to going cold-turkey. If he'd not been chained down he would have gone on a killing spree, he was sure. But he'd pulled through, and found a balance and clarity of mind he'd not had in months, maybe years. Alone in his cell, he discovered a stillness he'd never known in war or Shinra Tower. He would miss it, even if it came at the price of other liberties. Death still visited his dreams and fantasies, but he'd been living with that curse for years. He'd accepted his own bloodlust, as long as he could control it, he could live around it.

Sephiroth hadn't yet let himself think about what Ryquendë had done to him, what she'd made him feel and realize about himself. He couldn't. He knew he was in denial, but didn't care. Some things were too real to face, some buried desires and truths were hidden for a reason. Knowing his own desperate, soul deep, yearning for love and acceptance, crippled him because he knew he'd never ever find those things. Love did not exist, not the kind children dreamed of, unless maybe it came from their parents, and his own would never love him so unconditionally.

The woman who had given him to Hojo –to science—often occupied his thoughts. He remembered all the childish dreams and fantasies conjured in loneliness and pain, and saw them all crushed before him, slaughtered upon the pure-white snow of a child's innocent hope. He was too old for this now, too old for the destruction of childish delusions to hurt so very much. Had he not suffered and paid the price of Lucrecia's ambition for twenty-four years? He shouldn't still wish, hope, wonder, if she had ever loved him, ever held him in her arms and marveled at _her _child. He should hate her. And he did –would never forgive her—but he could not stop himself from yearning for what he'd never known: for his mother's love. Maybe if Jenova had never touched his mind, never awakened these longings and desires, he could have brushed the reality of his own mother's betrayal aside –but she did, and he could not.

Over the months he had come to embrace, covet, the possibility of Valentine's relationship to him. He'd run Vincent's features over and over in his mind, searching for similarities to his own. He'd never seen any resemblance to Hojo, though they had shared a disturbing love for blood and death, it could be explained as nurture over nature. The scientist had raised him, and as much as he'd like to deny it, had been a major deciding influence in his life. Blood, though, blood _meant_ something to him. Family, something he'd never had, was held sacred in his mind as longed for but forbidden things often are. He wanted to believe the blood pumping through his veins, giving him life, was not tainted by Hojo. He wanted to be able to say Hojo was _nothing _to him: not kin, not family, not _blood_.

Sephiroth thought he had Vincent's eyes, the shape, the full long lashes, the arched brow. He was sure he had his voice –deep and rich like wine, just a little rough around the edge—at least as much as two voices can belong together. Maybe the mouth too, with its thin, curving upper lip perfect for twisting into a smirk, but it was hard to tell with Vincent always hiding it behind his red cloak.

Vincent had visited him often, before leaving for the ongoing war in the Northern Continent. The visits had been filled with silence, neither knowing what to say to a long lost son/father. While Sephiroth may embrace the idea of Valentine's blood in him, he was unsure if he wanted a relationship with the man. He didn't need a father and didn't think Vincent wanted to be one either. He wanted to know why Vincent kept coming back and what he wanted from him; everyone wanted something.

As far as he could tell, Vincent seemed to be waiting for something, though Sephiroth could not discern what. The gunman would enter like a silent shadow, they would spare a few words, Vincent sharing what he knew of Genesis and Angeal or Shinra's turbulent politics. Never anything personal escaped the gunman lips, it was all information centered on Shinra and Sephiroth. It had been on the tip of Sephiroth's tongue many times to ask about Hojo , the particulars of his death, what he'd done to Vincent to keep him frozen in time. Or about Lucrecia, wanting to know more about the woman who born him –what she looked like, smelt like—but he'd never asked. It always seemed sacred – Vincent's past, his mother—so he'd kept the questions inside and listened to the few words Vincent offered, before they fell inevitably into a waiting silence.

Only once had the routine broken. It was a little over three weeks into Sephiroth's imprisonment; the addictive pills had been purged from his system, and he was beginning to find a little equilibrium. He'd been brooding on the deaths of his men when Vincent had come for a visit. He'd thought it would be the usual routine, but instead it was the beginning of a tradition that lasted until Vincent was sent North, to war again:

Vincent entered, the chink of his boots loud on the stone floor. It was earlier than usual for the man to visit –not yet dawn—but Sephiroth had been sleeping poorly since his capture and was already up at this early hour. Vincent watched him for a moment before mutely approaching and holding out a pack of cigarettes. Sephiroth accepted them without a word, keeping his surprise hidden. Only yesterday Vincent had asked if there was anything that would ease his time here –the man had already arranged for a bed to be brought in, and brought him books and newspapers (Shinra and rebel), as well as any special foods he hinted at enjoying—Sephiroth had mentioned, half jokingly, that he could use a smoke. He hadn't thought Vincent would bring cigarettes –and a lighter—but the man had. He really wished he knew what Vincent wanted of him.

The gunman pulled out a set of keys and proceeded to free Sephiroth. When the last chain had fallen Sephiroth stood motionlessly in the cell, eyes flickering between the door, Vincent's face, and the deadly gun on his hip, calculating the likelihood of escape. Vincent did not appear concerned, instead with a simple 'come,' he gave his back to Sephiroth. Cautiously, Sephiroth followed.

Vincent led them through the stone corridors, and Sephiroth was left wondering –not for the first time—where he was being held. He'd already determined they were partially underground –he'd had a raccoon sniffing at his window—so knew the topmost part of his cell was at ground level. The set stones in the walls and floor and ceiling, were of a strange cut though and roughly hewn, unlike the perfectly straight lines made by modern techniques.

At the end of the corridor stood a door, steel enforced and at odds with the rest of the hall as if had been added much latter. Vincent pulled the heavy door open, holing it out for Sephiroth to follow. Two rebel guards were waiting on the other side. They startled at Sephiroth's appearance, shooting frightened looks towards Vincent.

"Sir, we have orders-" one of them started with a stiff salute.

"I am changing them, soldier." Vincent brushed him off without concern.

"Sir, the Lady-"

"I said I am changing them, take it up with General Chaos if you have a problem." The words were spoken in the man's quiet voice, but he didn't need to bark to be obeyed.

The guard swallowed uneasily, glancing at his partner, before saluting again, "Yes, sir, Commander."

Vincent inclined his head slightly and motioned Sephiroth forward again. Sephiroth was now intrigued by what Vincent could want, since the man had obviously not gotten approval to release him from his cell; and no wonder, he may not have a sword in his hands, but his whole body was a weapon. He decided to wait for the moment and see where this was going, but thought he stood a good chance at escape if he chose to take it.

Vincent led them up a short set of stairs before they broke into the open air, the naked sky above them just beginning to grey with the promise of day. Sephiroth looked around the large enclosure they'd stepped into, with interest. It was a sizable open area, already bustling with soldiers. Thick, high stone walls encircled it on three sides, with a towering cliff face hemming in the fourth. He turned to see the layout of the building they'd emerged from, and was greeted by a massive stone structure at least four stories high and joined directly into the protecting walls. The fortress was built into the side of the Nibel mountains, for the line of mountains stretching north and south as far as he could see, could be nothing else.

"This way," Vincent called him forward, cutting across the field of stunted grass and packed dirt.

Some soldiers stopped to stare at them; it was hard to miss the distinct shine of Sephiroth's hair, but Vincent did not seem worried, though it was always hard to discern what the man was thinking.

"G-General Sephiroth, sir." A man in rebel colors stepped haltingly forward. "We thought-we thought you had been killed, General sir." The man motioned to a group of wide-eyed men behind him.

Sephiroth had no idea who any of these men were. "You were miss informed." He said in his cool General voice –untouchable. The man stepped back, looking chagrined for having spoken up.

"He was one of yours," Vincent's quiet voice at his back, "A Shinra regular."

"What?" Sephiroth turned, not hiding his sudden surprise. "You told me they had all been killed."

"They were, unless they chose to defect." Vincent answered.

"And you would trust men who only joined your ranks to save their necks?" Sephiroth scorned.

"To a point," Vincent replied unaffected. "The army needed troops, but we only took those who could prove a connection to the rebellion –family in conquered lands. A man is less likely to betray an army who hold the lives of loved ones in their hands."

Sephiroth looked back at the still watching men. He supposed it was something to hear he'd not led all his men into a massacre, but it was still an unacceptable number of deaths. He wasn't used to failing his man so unforgivably. He had been week, distracted, upon the field of battle, and his soldiers had paid for it with their lives.

As if reading his thoughts Vincent said, "What happened after the surrender lies at the feet of Shinra, it was the President who chose not to negotiate for their lives –and there were many—not you."

Sephiroth said nothing, not used to others reading him so easily, and even less, them trying to offer some form of comfort. He was frigid-perfection after all, and such perfection does not have feelings underneath the ice –at least that's what so many thought, even Genesis, who he would call friend. He felt awkward in the wake of Vincent's words, eyes flickering over to study the man's blank face. The gunman kept his emotions as controlled as his son. It seemed his father had given him more than just physical features; he found the thought pleasant, maybe the nurture of Hojo had not reached into his blood.

The gunman directed them on again, seeming to have a definite destination in mind. They passed a set of huge steel doors that were yawning open, revealing a long winding road beyond. A military truck crawled into the stone fortress, pulling up outside the large, central building which cradled Sephiroth's cell in its belly. The truck's back gate was thrown open, and rebel soldiers began jumping down.

"They're coming from North Coral, it's only thirty miles west of here." Vincent informed him.

Sephiroth said nothing, merely turning to face the still open gates. Rolling grasslands stretched out before him, freedom within his grasp. He felt Vincent's eyes on him, observing silently. Sephiroth wondered what Vincent would do if he grasped the escape staring him in the face. The gates began to swing shut again, and Sephiroth hadn't moved. Why hadn't he run? Because there was nothing worth running too. What was Shinra but another kind of cage?

Vincent and he watched the gates swing shut with a creaking bang, before the gunman broke the silence. "That's where the Chocobo riders used to enter; when this fortress was built there were no trucks. The doors were iron-enforced Nibel fir thirty years ago, but they were too ruined to repair and we had these ones put in when we took North Coral over two years ago now."

Sephiroth asked, "How old is this place?"

"It was built several hundred years ago, I'd estimate."

Sephiroth blinked in surprise. "I was not aware anything of that age survived outside of Wutai."

"There are a few temples hidden deep within the Mideel jungles, that still stand I believe, but most has long been destroyed, you're right. Even the histories of times before Shinra are no longer taught. It is as if the world started and ended with the rise of the Company. It was a wise move on Shinra's part to erase the past; they wanted to build a world where one without Shinra would be incomprehensible in people's minds."

Sephiroth was silent, thinking of his own years of indoctrination into the Shinra world-view. A life without Shinra certainly did seem incomprehensible, but oh so desirable.

"This fortress was used by the people of North Coral in the first war against Shinra, over thirty years ago. Coral was the last city to fall on the Western Continent."

Sephiroth nodded absently, already knowing of the famous 'last stand' by the Coral rebels. Hojo had had him memorize the 'glorious' rise of Shinra as a child.

"They held this fortress for months before we flushed them out," Vincent mused, his eyes far away, and Sephiroth was suddenly far more interested in the conversation. Vincent never talked about himself. "We came up the drainage system." Vincent continued as they walked. "There weren't any SOLDIERs in those early years, and most of the jobs that now fall to them were still Turk's jurisdiction."

Sephiroth was struck by how old Vincent really was, it was easily to forget when the man didn't look at day over twenty-five, but he must be in his late fifties now.

"I was still a green recruit then, and my partner…" but he trailed off into contemplative silence, not finishing the story to Sephiroth's disappointment. He didn't know much about the Company's early days which wasn't censored for print, and almost nothing about the man who was his father.

Vincent took Sephiroth to a set of steep, rock steps leading up to the battlements. The sharp mountain wind awakened their hair as they ascended the high-walls. When they scaled the last step, Sephiroth found a hawk's eye view of the hilly grasslands stretching out for miles before them. North Coral was just a hazy dot on the western horizon. The land spread out like a rolling sea, full of bumps and hiccups. The grass was yellow-brown on the dry high-plains, full of twisting thistles, and hardy yucca thriving beside the course wild-grasses. The mountain side was shorn steeply at their back, instead of ending gradually in gentle foothills and forest, as Sephiroth had seen along most of the Nibel range. It was truly an ideal stop for the stone fortification.

Vincent lent his tall, slender body against the defenses, hands –human and metal—coming to rest on the cool rock, not yet warmed by the rising sun. They stood in silence for a long moment, the sun ascending slowly but steadily at their back, the mountains blocking out the glory of its awakening. The rough wind burnished their hair, threading icy fingers through their clothing. Vincent's red cape flapped about like a scarlet wing, his hair whipping like a tattered black-web. Sephiroth felt his own silver hair being tangled hopelessly by the mischief winds.

Sephiroth pulled out a cigarette in the quite companionship of the moment. He packed it before lighting up, belatedly realizing he'd not asked Vincent if he minded the smell. He usually didn't smoke in-front of others; it seemed to upset the image they had of the perfect General, and Sephiroth would rather just avoid the drama. He'd found out long ago the less people actually knew about him the better. And he didn't like exhibiting any personal habits, even this seemingly meaningless one, might be somehow used against him, turned into a weakness.

"You don't mind?" He asked, gesturing to his smoke as he exhaled the relaxing drug through his nose.

Vincent shook his head as the wind blew the smoke over his pale skin, and Sephiroth watched a strange expression cross the man's face as he caught a measure of the scent. Then, "My partner –when I was a Turk—Veld, he used to smoke. It was hard to ever find him without a cigarette in his hand, though I've heard he prefers a cigar now days."

Sephiroth blinked. Surprised not only by the second conversation in one day touching on Vincent's past, but also the information revealed. "Veld, as in the Turk Director Veld, was your partner?"

Vincent hummed.

"It wasn't in your file, but then, there wasn't much on your time as a Turk," Sephiroth mused, still startled by Vincent's unusual openness today.

The gunman gave him a wan smile, "That's quite typical of the Turks, they like their secrets."

Sephiroth took another drag, thinking. "I can't see it, you and Veld partners."

"Well, we didn't always get along, in fact we were often at ends." That shadow smile still played on Vincent' s lips, his eyes far away, looking out to the place the land met the sky. "He thought I was too serious –though actually I was just a bit lazy—but he never seemed to take anything seriously. Veld always had a girl on his arm, and a drink in his hand, and was the cockiest bastard…" Vincent trailed off again.

"That sounds nothing like him." Sephiroth shook his head, not able to connect what he knew of the man to the picture Vincent painted.

Vincent hummed, "Well, he did change after Juliet and the baby, more focused on the job. He wasn't just a young man looking for adventure and a good time, but he was always easy-going."

"The Veld I know is a hard man, even cruel. He's a fanatic for the 'job.' The day he could be described as 'easy-going' is the day Hojo is remembered as a flower-hugger." Sephiroth chuckled a little at that image, and caught just the hit of Vincent's smile –white as peeled almonds—smiles were a rarity with the gunman.

The smile was gone as quickly as it appeared, and Vincent said, "I hear he lost his wife and daughter."

Sephiroth nodded, "Yes, they were killed in the Kalm bombing…do you know it was Veld who gave the order? He hadn't known they were there for the festival, but he still as good as killed them."

Vincent looked down, and quietly, "Yes, I knew. Such a thing would change any man, and I can only imagine what it did to him to lose them."

"You knew them well?"

"I was at the wedding. Not best man of course, Veld wanted someone who would smile," ruefulness tinted Vincent's voice. "Juliet –his wife—was a like slip of a thing. She looked like a porcelain doll on Veld's arm, her head didn't even reach his shoulder, and she had the brightest red-curls I've ever seen. She was a sweet girl, and Veld was devoted to her; I don't think he ever looked at another woman again."

Sephiroth was silent, hoping the gunman would continue, but not willing to reveal how much his father's past and that of the grim Turk Director, interested him.

Finally Vincent resumed, after pulling back from some memory that had called him. "Felecia –their daughter—though, was a wild little thing, and Veld encouraged her. She was already a daddy's girl, and couldn't have been more than two the last time I saw her." Vincent's eyes clouded again, but with darker memories this time, and he fell into a silent Sephiroth knew he would not emerge from again for some time.

They stood a while longer on the battlements, not speaking, before going back. Sephiroth eyed the gate as they passed, tempted again with escape, but for reasons he couldn't –or just didn't want to—understand, his feet never turned aside from following his father back into the damp dimness of the stone corridors.

It became an unofficial tradition after that day for Vincent to come in the morning, and take him out to watch the sky lighten with dawn up on the high-walls. Sephiroth always looked at the gate as they passed, but just as surely looked away again. He never asked Vincent about the lax security, it almost felt as if Vincent was giving him the choice of leaving. Nothing about the walks seemed taunting, Vincent was not trying to throw his captivity in his face, and maybe that's why he never left: because during these times together he never felt like a prisoner, and in some ways he'd never felt more free. But then he would inevitably return to his cell and the chains, and he'd play with the idea of escape, though he always knew he'd never take it. Vincent never spoke so openly of the past again, which disappointed Sephiroth, for he had so many unanswered questioned, but he never asked them. And now Vincent was gone, back to the northern war, and Sephiroth found himself missing the silent companionship of his father more even then the sweetness of free-air upon his skin.

The question of what his father wanted from him in return for these times of freedom, nagged at Sephiroth's thoughts. Eventually he'd asked Strife about Vincent's intentions, though not in so many words. The boy laughed first, saying he'd had a similar conversation with Vincent the other day. Strife advised him not to worry about Vincent, the man never said much, and was even more unsure then Sephiroth. Sharp, blue eyes pierced him then –Sephiroth never got used to seeing mako reflected out of a child's face. The boy said Vincent didn't know how to act because he was waiting for Sephiroth to start hating and blaming him for his failure to save him from Hojo.

Strife smiled a tired smile, "That's who Vincent is. He'll never forgive himself or let go of things two decades in the past. He's a glutton for punishment. Do you know where he was just two years ago?" Sephiroth let the silence answer for him. "Still in the coffin Hojo locked him in. Dreaming nightmares for twenty years with demons in his head, it was his 'punishment.' Vincent _never_ talks about Lucrecia, but he did with you; not only because you deserved to know, but because it hurt him to do so and Vincent thinks he deserves to suffer pain for failing both of you."

Sephiroth concluded from this conversation that what Vincent wanted from him was forgiveness. He was not sure he could give it. He needed more information on the man's past to absolve him from guilt. Vincent had admitted he'd had the ability to save Sephiroth from Hojo, so why hadn't he?

Sephiroth had questioned Strife again, since by this time Vincent had already left for war. The boy mentioned the experiments, but said it was not for him to reveal what Vincent had suffered at Hojo and Lucrecia's hands. Strife believed it was a combination of what Hojo had done it him (which Sephiroth concluded had severely affected Vincent's mind in some way) and grief over Lucrecia's betrayal and death, which left Vincent open for Hojo's lies of Sephiroth's death at birth.

If the gunman had truly believed him dead, then Sephiroth didn't see what there was to forgive.

Personally he would have taken revenge upon Hojo the moment he was able, but he'd never loved anyone so didn't fully comprehend a 'broken heart.' He'd seen men act in insanity when loved ones died: Wutainese women throwing themselves upon SOLDIERs swords when their husbands were brought home dead, SOLDIERs going on mad rampages when lovers were killed. Human minds were vulnerable to many forms of madness when love was involved. If Vincent had believed Hojo's words, then he didn't see what sin needed to be forgiven. He supposed it was true: Vincent Valentine was a glutton for punishment. Perhaps he would tell the gunman he didn't blame him when next they met, at least what his father wanted from him cost him nothing.

The cell door creaked open and Strife slipped through with the evening meal. The boy had been assigned his jailer after the incident with Ryquendë. Apparently Vincent feared the witch would try to extract revenge on him; Strife didn't agree, but had still accepted the position of jailer/guard. Since Vincent no longer visited with his silence and information, the boy had become Sephiroth's only link to the outside world. He didn't know if he could trust the boy's words, the child was suspiciously free with information, but until proven otherwise he accepted them as a possible, if biased, truth. Why the boy cared about his ignorance and isolation from the world, he didn't know. The great question of what the boy wanted was as yet unanswered.

Strife graced him with his customary small smile, "Hey."

Sephiroth accepted the tray with only a nod in greeting. Since his internment in his cell, he'd received a few additions. He now had a bed, a wash stand, and a longer chain; such were the comforts of prison life.

The boy never wore weapons in his presence now –too easy to steal.

Only once had he attacked the child. It had been the first week of his imprisonment and he'd not had his longer leash yet; the child had had his swords on him –materia equipped—he'd calculated a good fire spell would have freed him. Fast as a snake he'd caught the child's wrist, grown lax enough to set the food tray down within arm's reach. Pulling the slender boy forward, he'd trapped him to his chest, arms like iron bars, mako enhanced or not, the child should never have been able to escape. He'd just wrapped an eager hand about a sword hilt, when he'd found himself holding nothing but air. The child was scowling at him from across the room.

"The witch's magic," he breathed in awe and frustration.

"No, the Cetra's magic."

"Can you do what she did, in my mind?" His hands flexed as his sides, determined not to reveal how terrified he was of a repeat experience.

"No, that was mind magic, and only she can wield it. I only know a small portion of the ancient spells, just what she was willing to teach me." The boy's expression closed, and Sephiroth knew this was treacherous ground from the boy; he didn't hide his fear of the past well enough.

"And the oaths, what punished her?" He pressed.

"The ancient magic, the Planet." He could not wheedle anymore out, Strife had shut down completely.

Almost four months later, and he didn't know any more about the unknown power. It was a constant needling at the back of his mind. He felt helpless against it, and he hated feeling helpless.

The boy dropped a dark-bound book on the bed beside Sephiroth, _The Count of Monte Cristo_ –Sephiroth forced down a sneer at the boy's twisted humor—before settling in the single wooden chair he'd brought into the cell expressly for this purpose. Sephiroth slipped the book under his pillow without comment, they never talked about the multitude of ways Cloud violated the restriction of a jailer/prisoner relationship. Sephiroth wasn't about to complain; he was confined to a ten-by-nine cell, with nothing but his own mind for occupation and the books he was dependent upon his jailer for. He wondered if the books were Vincent's doing, his father hadn't seemed the least concerned about keeping Sephiroth in his place as prisoner.

"We're leaving for Wutai in three days." Strife lazily tipped the chair back on two legs, pulling Sephiroth back to the present and his half-eaten meal. "They want to sedate you for the flight." Sephiroth's eye twitched. "What's Rufus like?"

The boy had asked him this before, but Sephiroth had not wanted to talk about the arrogant, spoilt little prince, he didn't now. "Intelligent."

The boy hummed, Sephiroth thought he'd picked it up from Vincent. "Ryquendë's changed; I think the negotiations might actually end in peace."

"Death changes a person." Sephiroth said noncommittally.

"Yeah," a pause, "I've never seen her this...subdued before. She's not as arrogant."

"She's mortal now."

The boy picked at a nail. "She's afraid of dying."

"She'll get over it."

Strife grinned, "Yeah, give it a couple more weeks and she'll be storming around like a drama queen again." Sephiroth's mouth twitched. "But, I think her priorities shifted. She's always wanted an empire and revenge, but now I think she wants children and a mate almost as much."

"A mate? Good luck with that." Sephiroth scoffed.

"She can be very charming when she wants. It's not finding a mate she needs to worry about, it's keeping one."

"So, she's going to settle down and become a homemaker?"

Strife laughed, "With a few hundred-thousand humans to rule on the side."

"I am not sure who to feel more sorry for, the humans or her mate." He smirked, and settled back to finish his dinner. He wouldn't be a prisoner much longer, most likely. He couldn't shake the knowledge that he felt more disappointed than relived by the prospect of returning to Shinra, and leaving matters so half-finished here. But he supposed it could be months before Rufus Shinra and the witch agreed on anything.


	6. Confederation of the New Order, Part I

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 6: Confederation of the New Order, Part I

The captain's voice blared over the intercom. "We're landin' in 15 so get yer asses buckled down, and be sure ta fly Cid Air again." The words were slightly slurred as they struggled to get out around the cigarette Cloud imagined was hanging from Highwind's mouth.

The captain was quite the character. Cid Highwind had joined the rebel cause over two years ago when Rocket Town threw off Shinra's chains, and become one of the rebel army's only aircraft captain's. The man had moved into the private sector after the war in the Western Continent settled down. There were many stories like that; most of the army hadn't wanted to continue the war in the Northern Continent. Their homes had been liberated and life called again. The newly freed people wanted stability for their war torn cities; they clung to the strength a large central government and standing army offered, still fearful of Shinra's retaliation. The regional representation implemented during the war had morphed into a new republic.

The Western Continent had been split into six Provenience: Northwest (Rocket Town), Coral, Nibel, Cosmo Canyon, Del Sol (Costa del Sol and The Gold Saucer), and Southeast (Gongaga jungle). All the Provinces sent a number of elected representatives to the capital in Rocket Town, and just two months ago the representatives had finally officially elected their new President: Ryquendë. The Confederation of the New Order (CNO) had been born.

Ryquendë was less then pleased with this new government and being forced to listen to 'The People.' She wanting to be named empress, however with her bound powers she'd had to accept second best. Cloud had no doubt the witch would be 're-elected' for many years to come.

Cosmo Canyon came close to breaking off from the CNO, and Ryquendë had had to use all her powers of persuasion to hold on to the independent minded and valuable Province. The Canyon had become rich in natural energy with Bugenhagen's revolutionary ideas of Sun-Screens and Wind-Catchers. The Canyon had sun in abundance, and the wind funneled beautifully through it right into the waiting arms of the Wind-Catchers.

With a cease-fire called to the Northern War, much of the rebel army had disbanded, leaving a diminished command under Chaos and Elfé's Knights. Elfé was not anxious for the war to end though, not like this, with Shinra faltering but not broken; for Elfé the war was not over, and she was not the only one who felt this way. But the army they forged from nothing was tired: tired of bedding on the cold ground longing for home, tired of rifles and orders taking the place of established professions, tired of fear and death as constant companions in the night, and tired of finding comfort and existence only in whores when the promise of wife and family waited.

If the Peace Talks ended successfully Cloud knew Elfé would not lie down and patiently wait for Shinra to take up where it left off. Elfé was born for war, she knew no other existence. All her memories before AVALANCHE were lost, she'd spent her entire life fighting Shinra and she wasn't going to be able to stop now. Her health and life were dependent upon the mako injections she received; she was shackled to Ryquendë and Fuhito, when her heart lay in battle. Fortunately, Cloud did not think Ryquendë would care over much if Elfé and some of the old AVALANCHE continued the fight against Shinra. If there was one thing Ryquendë understood it was revenge, and if some of the rebel combatants turned terrorists again, well that was hardly _her_ fault. Elfé would fight Shinra until they were on their knees, and then she'd take their head.

For the moment Elfé and Chaos held the rebel army together with Barret Wallace, the CNO's Vice-President, governing in Ryquendë's stead. Together they awaited the Peace Talk's outcome. There were many things that could, and probably would go wrong. Ryquendë's arrogance and greed found its match in Rufus Shinra, and it was not balanced by Wutai's pride and demands for sovereignty. These Talks could drag on for weeks, months, or they could fall apart at day one.

Cloud's ears filled with cotton and he knew the Highwind would be touching down any minute. His gaze turned to the motionless figure strapped down on the bed before him. Sephiroth's face was slack, the sedatives still coursing through his body. Cloud stood carefully and tested the restraints, ensuring Sephiroth was safely buckled in for landing. The General's head had tilted during the flight and now a thin line of drool dribbled from his mouth. It was wrong. Sephiroth was not meant to be so utterly helpless before anyone.

Tenderly Cloud wiped the sign of Sephiroth's helplessness away. His hand reached out again, not able to abort the overwhelming desire to touch the man's silver hair. Cloud brushed the long bangs aside, the strands as silky as a spiders-web between his fingers.

The cabin door clicking open sent Cloud scrambling hastily for his seat, trying not to let a guilty expression surface on his face. As jeweled eyes calmly surveyed him he cursed his delicate completion as he felt a spark of heat settle in his cheeks. Vincent didn't comment on his strange behavior though, for which he was grateful, instead turning to look upon the motionless figure before them.

"My duties as the witch's Hand will keep me much occupied in the coming weeks. I am depending on you to guard him, Cloud." Cloud read the double meaning in Vincent's words. He would have to guard Sephiroth from more than just escape and Ryquendë's possible revenge, but from those who would want to take advantage of the General's vulnerable state. Sephiroth had many enemies, especially where they were going –Wutai's capital city—who would like nothing better that to see the man dead.

"I won't fail you."

Vincent collected the promise with a single nod. "Do not linger when we arrive. I've assigned a trustworthy Hand to help you get him out of sight. Ryquendë wants the Knights to escort her into the Palace, but you are their Lieutenant here, so pick a few worthy ones to help you."

"I will Vincent," Cloud promised, a heavy feeling of nerves settling in his stomach. He'd been a Knight of two years now, but never held such an important command. He wished Elfé or Shears were here, but they were needed to help hold the army together. If the negotiations went badly, the CNO had to be prepared.

Vincent placed a steady hand on his shoulder, and Cloud found reassurance in the calm red eyes. Vincent always knew how to comfort him, ever since he'd been a child of twelve, Vincent had been his rock. Elfé was an integral part of his life, his teacher, his beloved and wise mentor, but Vincent was the father he'd never had, and he knew Cloud best.

With the silent reassurance Vincent took his leave. The Hand was the President's Head of Security during this mission, and his duties would keep him busy. But Cloud was grateful he was here; they rarely received missions together, as a Knight and Hand, and he always took special pleasure in working beside his father.

His eyes strayed back to the silent General. It was strange, remembering how much he'd feared meeting the man. He'd been terrified of the similarities between Ryquendë and Sephiroth. His hair, his eyes, the cold arrogance and confidence they radiated. But when Vincent had asked him to check up on Lucrecia's son, he hadn't been able to refuse. His breath had caught when slit eyes surveyed him from beneath silver bangs, so like her. A surge of hate and devotion had rocked him, as it always did in her presence, wanting to run to her/him, fall at her/his feet, and cut her/his throat, and silence her/his twisted lies.

But after the initial flood of desires had cooled, he'd looked, really looked at the man seated at his feet. There was the physical resemblance to her, yes, and an untouchable confidence as well, but the man had not greeted him with her false smile and haughty eyes. There had been nothing in the mirrored green depths, only cool disinterest, and it had been the man's disregard that moved him to speak so openly about the witch. It had been the_ differences_ between Ryquendë and Sephiroth. It was not how they were alike, but how they were not, that brought him back day after day.

Sephiroth held a piece of _her_ inside him, and yet was not her. Cloud had needed to know, needed to understand what lay beyond the indifferent eyes. So he had watched, watched until he'd begun to see the little things: the spring thaws shyly emerging when winter's chill shed its cloak. He realized he liked what he saw, and found himself looking forward more and more to the times he spent in that cell with only Sephiroth for company.

It took him a little longer to name what it was curling in his gut when sharp green eyes watched him. A crush. He had a silly teenage crush on General Sephiroth, the enemy. He'd sworn never to act on it of course; he'd been terrified of the very idea. Sephiroth was not just any man, he was powerful, and Cloud already knew the man was used to controlling others. Cloud could not put himself into this man's hands. To admit to his attraction would be to surrender himself to another's control, and he couldn't do that. Love was control. He'd offered himself to Vincent, but he trusted Vincent absolutely. He knew he loved Elfé too, like a beloved teacher or older sister, but he'd never had the courage to tell her –never quite trusting enough. And Shears too, he cared for the older man; he was a steady and loyal friend, but he'd never voiced such thoughts.

He knew he was damaged inside, wondered if he'd ever be able to just let go of his fear, but he couldn't, not yet. He wasn't ready for the kinds of affections and desires Sephiroth stirred in him with anyone, less a man like Sephiroth. Cloud had tried to purge the feelings and thoughts from his mind, but had not yet been successful. He hoped, after Sephiroth went back to Midgar, back to Shinra, he'd be able to forget the man. But a part of him knew he wouldn't.

Highwind was barking over the intercom again, and Cloud was just beginning to wonder if he'd have to leave Sephiroth unprotected to gather up an escort, when a knock came at the cabin door. He swung it open quickly to reveal the promised Hand, and was relieved to find a flaxen-haired girl he'd served on a mission with before.

Elena had been young and inexperienced, anxious to prove her worth. She was pretty naïve too, he remembered, telling him about her older sister in the Turks and how she'd joined the Hands to prove herself better. He'd told Elena a number of soldiers had planned to join Shinra or worked for them at one time or another, but people didn't talk about it since it brewed distrust. The girl was sharp and caught on right away; he hadn't heard the word Turk for the rest of the mission.

"Hey Elena," he greeted.

"Cloud," she was seasoned now, he could tell. Eyes shrewd, voice just the right blend of warmth and disinterest. "The boss sent me to help move the prisoner." Her brown eyes flickered over Sephiroth's unconscious form.

"We need to gather a few Knights as well."

"You don't think I'm capable?" She bristled.

"I know you're more than capable and more importantly, trustworthy, Elena. Vincent wouldn't have assigned you this task if he didn't think so too," Cloud tried to calm the girl. "But it's possible we might run into some trouble. General Sephiroth is not well liked in Wutai."

Elena nodded, looking a little sheepish at her outburst, but glowing when he mentioned Vincent's trust. The Hands were all a little in awe of Vincent, but utterly devoted to him as well. Cloud remembered when the Hands had taken it upon themselves to alter their dove-grey uniforms and showcase their loyalty; it had embarrassed Vincent to see the physical evidence of his Hands' devotion. They'd re-sewn crimson buttons where black ones had previously held their cross-breasted shirts shut.

Elena and Cloud carefully carried Sephiroth's unconscious form between them on the cot as they made their way out of the docked airship, and Cloud made quick work of selecting two of his Knights to accompany them.

When his little escort party was gathered among the bustle of the main delegations departure preparations, Cloud sought out a vehicle to convey them to the Wutai Royal Palace. Unfortunately the Wutainese had provided less than ideal transport: little carriages drawn by human runners. Sephiroth's sedated form was strapped down to a stretcher which made such travel impossible. Cloud didn't want to parade the General's limp body through the streets like some sort of spectacle.

He caught Vincent's eye as the Hand Commander busily arranged Ryquendë's transportation. The gunman quickly grasped the problem, but with no available trucks there was little to be done. In the end Cloud had Elena search the airship for a blanket which was draped over Sephiroth's unconscious body, and Cloud neatly tucking the silver hair out of sight. It was the best they could do under the circumstances.

It was only a mile's walk to the Palace, and for the enhanced Knights carrying the stretcher it was no trouble. The walk took them directly though the heart of the Wutai capital, and the cobbled streets were lined with people come to catch sight of the CNO delegation. Children ran after the man-drawn carriages bobbing through the merrily decorated streets. Peddlers shouted their wares, trying to haggle the foreigners into buying Wutainese carvings, flavored rice-balls, or cheap stick flags carrying the CNO's emblem of a single pearly-star set on a field black as the night sky.

Lord Godo and his wife were already welcoming Ryquendë on the Palace steep steps when Cloud's smaller troop arrived with the apparent dead body between them. Rufus Shinra had not arrived yet, no doubt wanting to make everyone await his presence. Cloud's gaze trailed over the majestic Palace rising above them, the elegantly carved roof curling in sweeping scrolls at its corners. The air was heavy with exotic spices and the scent of jasmine and plum trees.

The Wutainese court was decked out in hand-stitched silk of the finest quality, seeming to come in every shade of the rainbow. Their fine hair pined up with tickling gold and jewels, or in the case of the men, braided down their backs with strangely shaped hats crowning their heads. Vincent looked quite out of place towering over them in his bright-red cloak and metal encased boots. Ryquendë had chosen a blood-red velvet dress that scooped low in the front and fell off her shoulders in an elegant sweep of embroidered fabric. Her silver hair was pulled half up in an intricate knot. She looked every inch a queen stepped out of a story book, complete with the superior way she was even now looking the Wutainese rulers over.

Cloud had to suppress a smile when he realized Vincent was forced to intercede between Ryquendë and the Wutainese royalty's ruffled pride, at least three times in the span of as many minutes. Ryquendë held a particular grudge against Wutai's rulers; Cloud thought it was because they held titles of emperor and empress and she did not. Such petty jealously was exactly the sort of thing that would ruin these negotiations. If Ryquendë couldn't put aside her arrogance for Wutai, then how would she handle Shinra?

It was the Princess Yuffie who inevitably brought the unwanted attention to the 'dead body' in their mist. The little girl was fidgeting at the end of her mother's hand, pulling at the high-collar of her formal robes and glaring at everything and everyone from under short black bangs, when her sharp eyes spotted the two Knights carrying the litter with Sephiroth's body. "Oh, is it dead?" She rudely interrupted the pompous greetings, slipping away from her mother's hold and bounding over to Sephiroth, ignoring her minder's sharp words. "Can I see? I've never seen a dead person before."

All eyes turned to the still form of the covered General. "No, just sleeping." Cloud tried to gently push the child back, but this proved to be a mistake.

"Unhand me! I am the great ninja Princess Yuffie Kisaragi!"

"Sorry!" Cloud quickly dropped her arm, seeing the angry expressions on the Wutainese faces.

It was the empress who smoothed over his unknown breach of protocol. "In Wutai to touch a royal person without being granted permission is a sign of grave disrespect, and punished by death. Come Yuffie," the empress gently chided, holding out a finely manicured hand.

"No!" The child stamped her foot, "I want to see the dead person!"

Cloud clenched his jaw to keep his disgust from showing. He had no patients for spoilt children. He doubted the girl had known a day of hardship or sorrow in her life, sheltered as she was between her parent's love and the Palace walls.

"Why do you bring the dead into our homes?" Lord Godo demanded.

"General Sephiroth is our prisoner, and not dead." Ryquendë dismissed carelessly.

"The Demon!" The Princess shrieked, though not in fear, as she dashed forward to yank the blanket from Sephiroth's body.

Cloud didn't know who he wanted to strangle first, the witch or the girl, as murmurs raced through the gathered Wutainese like flies. More than one Wutainese courtier pushed forward to get a better look at their fallen enemy. Cloud stood indecisive, not knowing if he should use force to keep them at bay. It would not set a proper precedent for the upcoming negotiations, but when the searching eyes turned into hands, he knew he had to act.

Cloud's stomach rolled at the way fingers examined Sephiroth's hair and body, as taunting voices hit the air. The Wutainese were pleased with their enemy's helpless state, and Cloud was disgusted by the way they talked about and touched the Shinra General, as if he were a _thing_. Not human enough to deserve their respect. He didn't care how many Wutainese had fallen to Sephiroth's blade, the man did not deserve to be treated so disrespectfully. Sephiroth would have killed them all for touching him this way were he able to defend himself.

Cloud signaled to Elena, making his intentions known as he began pushing the mocking hands back. But it was Vincent's voice cutting through the throng that brought an abrupt halt to the distressing display. "Lord Godo, is this how the Wutainese treat honorable fallen warriors?"

"This man has no honor. He slaughtered the woman and children of Wutai; he is no better than a beast." Lord Godo snapped back.

"General Sephiroth was captured in battle by Confederacy troops not Wutainese, and as such is our prisoner and given the rights we see fit. We chose to treat him as his station of captured warrior deserves, and not as a beast." Lord Godo's mouth was a grim line, but he did not challenge the CNO's right to the General. "Please provide a room and privacy for Lieutenant Strife to escort the General to."

"A room? The Palace dungeons would be more suited. I will not have such a dangerous man loose in the Palace. "

"He will be restrained and guarded by our enhanced Knights at all times." Vincent promised, his eyes cold as the gems they so resembled.

No further protests were made and Cloud's small party was able to escape the remainder of the 'welcoming' ceremonies. A Wutainese attendant led them through the Palace corridors to their assigned rooms. When they reached the area prepared for the CNO delegation, Cloud sent the Knights to the rooms assigned them, reminding himself to check on his men after settling Sephiroth. Elena helped him carry Sephiroth into the apartment styled rooms arranged for the Hand Commander, before he set her to guard duty at the door.

Cloud was not able to fully relax until he had Sephiroth's body situated on a low Wutai styled bed, and the suite door firmly shut. Two joining rooms with a central common area had been provided from Vincent and himself, though it would also double as Sephiroth's holding cell now. Ryquendë's room was just down the corridor, with the other CNO guards and attendees filling up the rest of this Palace wing.

Cloud had never seen a building to rival the Wutai Royal Palace, except in the memories Ryquendë had 'gifted' him with during his days of slavery. The work of human hands could never equal the magnificence of the Cetra's cities and Palaces. But for all the Wutai Palace's breathtaking splendor, Cloud wished for the humble comfort of Cosmo Canyon, or the strong stone walls of North Coral. He felt exposed and wanted the security of the known. These paper thin walls had ears, and everywhere he looked he was greeted with suspicious, unwelcome looks. The CNO were not a beloved ally, but a necessary evil if Wutai wanted to throw off Shinra's thumb.

His eyes trailed over the enhanced shackles about Sephiroth's wrists and ankles, they made the man both more dangerous and more defenseless. A wall socket would not withstand a SOLDIER's strength, so they had bound Sephiroth's feet as well. If an assassin slipped though during the night it would be difficult for Sephiroth to defend himself without the freedom of arms or legs. But there was also the risk of Sephiroth being able to escape since he was no longer chained to the wall. Cloud sighed, it was an impossible situation, he'd let Vincent deal with it when he came back. This whole place set Cloud on edge and he prayed they would not find themselves locked in this pretty jail for weeks to come.

Cloud dug a book out of his pack as the minutes and hours slipped by. He wondered if the Shinra delegation had arrived yet, and when Vincent would be free to return. He'd almost gone to talk to Elena at the door, but then thought better of it. The Hand was nice enough, but only in small measures; he'd rather have the quite company of Sephiroth's breathing then the chatty female.

Finally, when the shadows began to lengthen, his reading was interrupted by a disturbance at the door. He could hear two arguing voices. Placing a hand on one of his sword hilts, he cautiously opened the door. He recognized Genesis Rhapsodos immediately, having been in several battles where the Commander led Shinra forces.

"Commander," he greeted, drawing both their attention to him. Elena was glaring moodily at the Commander who was pretending to ignore the Hand as beneath his notice.

"I want to see General Sephiroth." The Commander demanded immediately.

"I take it Shinra has arrived then. Who informed you of his presence here?"

Genesis's eyes ran over Cloud's short form, noting the hand still wrapped about his sword hilt. "The Wutainese had sense enough not to stand in my way. Now, either you move or I'll make you move."

"What are your intentions with him?" Cloud demanded not backing down, though he knew he was no match for Genesis if it came to a fight.

Genesis paused, seeming to consider if Cloud was worth a reply. "I wish to assure myself of a friend's condition after four months in enemy hands."

Cloud licked his lips before slowly stepping back to let the Commander pass. "He's through here." As the Commander swept in Cloud shot Elena a meaningful look and mouthed 'Tell Vincent.' She nodded her head sharply, and he saw her reaching for her communication wire as the door snapped shut. He didn't know if Vincent would deem Genesis a threat or not, but he wanted him to be informed. He already hated this mission.

Sephiroth was still under the drug's influence. His pearl-gray hair spread out on the pillows, face pale and slack in the evening shadows. "What have you done to him?" Genesis demanded, eyes snapping over the unconscious form.

"He was sedated for the flight." Cloud replied neutrally, though inside he cringed, remembering the General helplessness under the Wutainese's hateful hands.

"Like an animal," Genesis snarled.

Cloud stiffened. "What were we supposed to do? Put him in a cage?"

Genesis's lip curled, "You'll be fortunate if he gives you a quick death when he's free."

"If he didn't kill Hojo, he won't kill me." Cloud dared.

"You don't know the first thing about Hojo, _little boy_, and you know nothing of Sephiroth." Cloud thought Genesis's words betrayed some underlining possessiveness, but he didn't understand what Genesis was so fearful of loosing. Sephiroth wasn't likely to call his captors his friends.

After that Genesis refused to leave until Sephiroth had regained consciousness. Cloud didn't have the power to physically remove Genesis from the room, so he eventually pulled out his book again and settled down to a long tense wait. He felt Genesis's eyes on him more than once, but forced himself to pretend to keep reading. The sedatives began wearing off within the hour, and Sephiroth's chained hands started making restless movements before he finally opened disoriented jade eyes.

"Genesis?" Sephiroth's voice was groggy as he blinked up at the hovering Commander.

"About time you woke up, arrogant bastard." Genesis said with an amused smirk. He brushed stray auburn hair out of his eyes, sitting back on the bed to give Sephiroth room to sit up. Azure eyes snapped over to Cloud, "Leave us."

Cloud's own narrowed at the obvious order. He didn't take orders from Shinra. "No."

Genesis's eyes flashed, but Sephiroth put a restraining hand on his friend's arm. "Strife, we would appreciate some privacy."

Cloud said nothing, only rising stiffly from his chair and crossing the room; he left the door pointedly open as he settled himself in the common room joining Vincent and his rooms. He picked a chair which gave him a clear view of the two men on the bed. He couldn't beat Genesis in a sword fight, but he was very good at escaping. If Genesis tried to leave with Sephiroth Cloud was confident he'd be able to thwart the attempt. A few words in the ancient tongue and Cloud and Sephiroth would be beyond human eyes.

The two spoke in hushed tones, too low for even his enhanced hearing to pick up. He forced himself to sit still, and search his memory for anything he could use in this situation. He wasn't sure what the men were talking about, but he didn't want to chance them plotting escape or possible revenge. He only knew a bare minimum of elemental spells, but remembered manipulating the wind when still young and new to the ancient magic's. He softly chanted the words, calling up a gentle breeze, so soft it was barely there, and coaxed the men's words to his ear.

He caught a few sentences about Angeal, but it took him a second to place the first name of the other Shinra Commander. Genesis was telling Sephiroth of how Angeal had fared in the last battle at Costa Del Sol, when Sephiroth held up his hand abruptly. Green eyes flittered about the room, lingering on the shut windows. Cloud quickly cut off the spell, amazed by the General's sensitivity, even for a SOLDIER if was incredible. He doubted he'd have felt the slight shift in the air, and certainly not registered it as unnatural. Narrowed eyes suddenly swung to lock with his own, and Cloud knew Sephiroth had somehow discerned it was his doing. Cloud didn't try to hide behind an innocent expression, merely raising a challenging brow.

"If privacy was too much to ask, you should have said so instead of sneaking around like a rat." Cloud had never heard Sephiroth's voice so cold, and now he did lower his eyes in shame. Sephiroth was right, he should have stayed in the room rather than give false illusions. It wasn't an honorable thing to do. Sephiroth was already their prisoner, and had little enough privacy as it was.

"I apologize," blue eyes rose again to face frosty green, letting the other see his sincerity.

"What's going on?" Genesis demanded, looking between the two.

Standing, Cloud took a few steps toward them. "Give me your word you will not attempt to escape and I will leave."

Sephiroth's gaze was steady, "You have it."

Cloud nodded silently before slipping from the rooms without a backwards glance. Elena gave him a questioning look, but his throat was too tight to get any words out. Sephiroth was his responsibility, Vincent had entrusted him with his son, and he'd just left him. But he wanted to trust Sephiroth's word. He closed his eyes and willed the minutes to move faster.

"I called the boss," Elena offered. "He didn't sound worried." He nodded gratefully, trying to offer the girl a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

Cloud estimated it'd been about thirty minutes since he left Sephiroth when he finally caught sight of Vincent's red cloak billowing behind him as the man glided down the corridor. Vincent's eyes asked what Cloud was doing out in the corridor and not with his charge.

"Commander Rhapsodos is with him still, and they…wanted to speak privately." Cloud's face held all the fear and fragile trust he'd been feeling since leaving the pair alone.

"Hum," was Vincent's only comment, but it was not disapproving.

With a quite word Vincent dismissed Elena. When Cloud and Vincent were alone in the corridor, Vincent leaned closer to Cloud, his lips nearly brushing the shell of the boy's ear. If Vincent was willing to forestall his usual personally space, then Cloud knew he too feared the walls had ears. "Do not let it worry you so. The Commander will not harm Sephiroth, and as for escape, it hardly matters to me. If Sephiroth would be happier back with Shinra then I will not stop him."

Cloud's lips parted in a gasp, "What? But...then why don't we just let him go now?"

"I said I would not stop him if he made an attempt, he has not. I can only conclude that he is in no great hurry to return to Shinra."

"He could go somewhere else." Cloud ventured. "The CNO-"

"He will not join the CNO, not with Ryquendë at its head. He has friends in Shinra, and…something else that keeps him there."

"What?"

"Hum. I do not think he knows yet how to live a life without Shinra's control."

"But…he hates being controlled." Even he could see the repugnance Sephiroth held for it.

"Yes, but he knows nothing else."

Cloud didn't have a reply. How well he knew such a life himself. Yet he could see the differences between Sephiroth's cage and his own. Cloud had been a slave in body, mind, and soul. When he'd been freed he'd had Vincent and memories of a life before his slavery. The chains holding Sephiroth to Shinra had weakened with time, but were no less strong then the ones drawing Cloud back to Ryquendë.

It had been frightening, freedom. He'd not known how to act or feel. But he'd had Vincent, Elfé, Shears, and Chaos all helping him find his feet and keep his slaver away. Shinra's control over Sephiroth was subtler than what Cloud had endured, and maybe that's why it still held Sephiroth enthrall. Sephiroth had also never known a life outside Shinra's grasp, raised in the labs, taught not to question. Cloud supposed Vincent was right, even as it saddened him; Sephiroth, even hating Shinra, could not imagine life without it yet.

"Come," Vincent led the way back into the suite, Cloud following at his heels.

Genesis and Sephiroth's fell silent as they entered. Genesis's narrowed gaze sweeping critically over the gunman, before tilting his chin up, "I am not leaving."

"You plan to stay in these rooms for the duration of the Talks?" Vincent calmly inquired.

Genesis's lips pursed, and Sephiroth let out a weary sigh at his friend's behavior. "Genesis, you're assigned the President's protection-"

"Veld can-"

"Rufus is not going to let you remain here."

"That's all the thanks I get for agreeing to put up with that stick in your ass?" Genesis snapped.

Sephiroth's face shifted to blankness, which only seemed to agitate the Commander more. "Four months rotting in a cell and you're still a bastard."

"You should leave, Genesis." Sephiroth voice played at apathy.

Genesis growled, lunching to his feet. "Just leave hum? Well, excuse me for trying to be a fucking friend." Genesis gestured choppily at Vincent. "Leave you with the likes of him? He's their Turk, or whatever they call them, he's their Director. Probably a sadist just like Veld, are we trusting Turks now? I wouldn't leave I dead dog in a Turk's care, but of course, I forgot how fucking untouchable you were. So I suppose you've nothing to fear."

Sephiroth rode the storm of Genesis's temper as if the words were nothing, his face never slipping from its perfect mask of indifference, but when he spoke his voice was soft and hinted with barely perceptible pain. "That man is also my father. So yes, I'd like you to leave."

Genesis's mouth opened in shock, and Cloud's enhanced ears picked up Vincent's gasp of surprise. His gaze slid over Vincent's face, but other than intense red eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Sephiroth, Vincent gave no sign he'd heard the confession. "Your father, since when? Why didn't you-"

Sephiroth cut Genesis off, the faint lines about his mouth revealing his discomfort. "We can speak about it later."

The dismissive words sent the hot-headed Commander over the edge again. "That's all you have to say? You know Sephiroth, sometimes I wonder if we're even friends." A pause while the words hung heavy in the air. Sephiroth finally showed some emotion, his brow drawing down, green eyes flicking with confusion. But Genesis was not done. "You're not the perfect General anymore, Sephiroth. You're not even The General, did you know that? I am. Rufus might not even ransom you back. Of course Angeal would throw a fit, but when was the last time he did anything about _anything_? I had planned to have a talk with Rufus, but now I think a little more time in a cell might do your ego good." Genesis finished cruelly.

"Do as you like, you always have," Sephiroth finally said his eyes fastened straight ahead.

"Now I do," Genesis's coat snapped about him as he turned and stalked out of the room, the suite door banging shut behind him.

Cloud swallowed in the silence, his eyes sliding away from the motionless General. The man looked like carved stone. "Wait outside a moment, Cloud." Vincent's quiet voice filled the silence.

Nodding mutely Cloud quietly pulled the door shut. He found himself restlessly pacing the common room a few minutes later, his stress needing an outlet. He was really starting to hate this mission.

A while later Vincent emerged from the silent room. "It's late. I do not have guard duty for Ryquendë's room tonight, so I will take over watching Sephiroth. Try to get some sleep Cloud." Vincent moved back to Sephiroth's room

"But you'll need to sleep too Vincent, especially if you won't get any later in the week."

"I shall sleep here," he gestured to Sephiroth's door. "Tomorrow night, when I am on duty, you will have to take my place. I do not want him left alone in the night; it is the province of assassins."

"Right," Cloud agreed. He watched Vincent slip into Sephiroth's room again, before turning to the empty bedroom. He stared at the door a moment before deciding to check on his men first. He wasn't going to get much sleep tonight, so he might as well accomplish something first.

…

Dawn was piercing the sky with flakes of fire when Cloud awoke. He'd spent a restless night, tossing and turning to the foreign sounds filling the dark. He was no stranger to new and often uncomfortable sleeping arrangements with his time in the War, but the feeling of intrusion hung heavy in the Palace air. They were unwelcome here and even the Land whispered of it.

Cloud rolled out of bed and hastily drew on his discarded clothing. He padded soundlessly over the cedar floor, stopping before the door of Vincent and Sephiroth's room. It was still shut and if it had just been Vincent he would have slipped inside and sought the comfort of his father, but he was too afraid of finding himself unwanted to risk it. Feeling like a fool for doubting himself yet again, and falling prey to old insecurities he longed to outgrow, he turned away and slipped from the suite.

The Palace corridors were empty at this early hour, and Cloud wandered unchallenged. His feet led him outside into the crisp autumn wind. His breath hung in the air in twirling plums. His enhanced skin was not touched by the lingering morning chill though. Bare feet sought the soft grass and he soon found himself immersed in the enchanting Palace gardens. Many of the flowers had already shed their luster for winter's coming white cloak. Cloud wasn't sure if snow ever blanketed the capital's streets; they were on the northern tip of Wuai, but still low in elevation. The towering peaks of the Da Chao Mountains rose in the east, shawled with snow.

Cloud drifted through the garden, savoring the simple beauty of the cherry tree flowers enjoying their second fading bloom. Chanting voices caught his attention as he stumbled upon a cluster of Wutainese worshipers. He hung back, not wanting to intrude upon their prayers. They knelt before a carved stature of the great sea serpent Leviathan, hands cupped before their chests as they offered up their prayers to the gods. Cloud realized the worshipers contained the empress and princess a moment before Yuffie spied him.

Yuffie sprung out of her supplicant pose and settled her hangs on her small hips, "It's not polite to spy, Shinra!" The other Wutainese rose around her, angered by the intrusion of a foreigner to their holy prayers.

Cautiously Cloud stepped into the small clearing. "My apologies, I had not meant to intrude, only walk in your beautiful gardens." He gave the empress a shallow bow, unsure of the proper greeting to royalty. "And I am not Shinra." He added to the glaring Princess.

"Shinra, CNO, all the same," the girl huffed, before her dark eyes became curious. "Papa says Shinra are all heathens, and don't worship the gods. I think praying is stupid and boring, is that why you don't?" Tongues clicked at Yuffie's disrespectful words.

"It is true I do not pray to your gods. I do not believe in them." The Wutainese's outraged murmurs were silenced by a quick gesture from the empress. Cloud continued, ignoring their displeasure. "I believe in the Planet's power, but I do not pray to her either. She does not bend her ear to our cries."

The empress tilted her elegant head, glossy hair sliding over a slim shoulder, "The Wutainese also worship the Planet, though it is rare and ancient belief even among our people. I did not know any other people still held to it."

"Not many, but a few remain."

"I want to see the Demon again!" Yuffie's young voice broke in. "He didn't look much like a demon to me. Does he have claws and fangs?"

Cloud stiffened. "The General is a person not a demon."

"That's not what papa says," the child frowned.

One of the empress's attendants voiced cruel words, just soft enough to mask itself in false civility, but loud enough to reach Cloud's enhanced ears. "That doesn't make him any less of a human being." He countered the words.

"He murdered my brother and his family, even the children!" The man snarled back. "He's a monster and deserves nothing but death. He's not welcome here, nor are those who hide him from justice and swear false friendship. Where were the CNO when Wutai was being ravaged by Shinra SOLDIERs? They were breaking their alliance and weak oaths of friendship." The man spat at Cloud's feet.

"You speak out of turn." Scolded the empresses, but she offered no apology for the man's words. "Come Yuffie, it is time for your lessons."

Cloud turned away, anger clenching his jaw. He didn't remember the walk back to their rooms, his thoughts overwhelming him. How he hated it here, hated these people's quick judgments, and long noses to look down upon them. What did Wutai ever do for the CNO that they would send soldiers to die for them? He didn't see any Wutai troops filling the rebel ranks.

He came back to himself, standing in front of Vincent's door. He wanted the familiarity of Vincent's smell, wanted to bury his face in the red cloak as his father's deep voice soothed his tension away; a childish longing, but no less intense because of it. Quietly he cracked the bedroom door open and slipped inside. His feet halted abruptly as he took in the scene before him.

Vincent lay as still as the grave, hands resting gently on his flat stomach. Cloud had seen Vincent sleep before; it was always the same, the man never moving in the long hours of the night. Cloud imagines this is exactly how he lay entombed in his coffin for twenty-two years. Sephiroth was sprawled out beside him, and the first thing Cloud thought as he looked at the man was that he's free. The chains lay forgotten upon the floor. Then Cloud noted the endless expanse of perfect pale skin revealed where the sheet has slipped down Sephiroth's exposed back. Sephiroth's face was buried in his pillow, hair a cascade of silver pooling onto the floor.

Cloud tore his gaze abruptly away from the mesmerizing sight, and found red eyes watching him silently. Cloud opened his mouth, before clicking it shut again. He realized he didn't have an excuse for intruding upon their privacy like this, and suddenly felt very young and foolish. "I am sorry." He mumbled, making to turn away.

Vincent's eyes were steady, knowing, piercing the layers of Cloud's skin and seeing him as they always did. His father held out his gold gauntlet, fingered claws beckoning. "Come here."

Cloud hesitated, eyes flickering over Sephiroth's still form. He couldn't tell if the man was awake, but thought he must be. As much as he wanted to collapse into Vincent's arms he didn't want to look like a child in front of Sephiroth. The intimacy of the moment also scared him. What he and Vincent shared was private.

But then Vincent called him again and Cloud found himself moving forward, slipping under the blankets and settling into Vincent's left side. The comforting familiarity of cold metal cradled him, soothing his anxiety over Sephiroth's presence.

They lay in comfortable silence for a moment before Vincent's velvety voice broke it. "Something is troubling you."

Cloud cast a worried glance over to Sephiroth again, the man's eyes were still closed, but the breathing was too even to be asleep. Vincent caught to look, "You worry too much."

Cloud couldn't help it. His trust for Vincent was being weighed against his fear of laying himself so open before another who he did not trust. Finally, "I hate it here." He confessed softly.

"Tell me, child." Vincent ran his human hand through Cloud's messy spikes.

"It's nothing." Cloud denied, before Vincent's waiting silence brought out more words, "I am just not used to it yet."

A pondering silence before, "The hate?"

"Yeah." They fell quiet again, everything having been said. Cloud looked over at Sephiroth and found green eyes watching them. A flush heated his cheeks as his eyes darted away.

"Would you like to hear a story?" Vincent startled him out of his embarrassment. Cloud was too surprised to speak for a moment. Vincent was acting very strange, he thought. He kind of did want a story though, but he didn't want to appear so needy and weak to need a bedtime story like a baby.

"I don't….why?" He stumbled.

"Can I not tell my sons a story?" Vincent calmly asked, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah," Cloud croaked out.

"Chaos told it to me some time ago." Vincent began, and Cloud had the suddenly thought that Vincent's voice made him a perfect story teller. "It was a popular tale amongst the Ancients at one time. It is the story of two trees, an oak and a willow-"

"Stop!" Cloud gasped. Memories suffocating him, drowning him in terror and madness and so much love, love, love, he can't breathe.

"What's wrong?" Vincent rose to an elbow, his fingers brushing the golden spikes off Cloud's sweating brow.

Cloud felt himself on the verge of hyperventilating, but he choked out, "Not that one. Not that one, please!"

"Shhh," his father stroked his hair.

Cloud's breaths were loud in the silence. He never talks about his time as Ryquendë's vessel. Ever since that first day when he'd spilled the secret crimes into Vincent's shoulder, he'd never spoken of those four years of enslavement in such vivid detail again. Vincent had tried to get him to open up a few times, saying it would help to speak of it, but Cloud had never let himself. Not wanting to remember.

Sephiroth shifted behind Vincent and Cloud was horrified by the weakness he'd displayed in front of the man. He hated weakness in himself almost as much as he feared it. He was terrified of having it used against him, used to control him. He wanted to stuff this greatest of all his secrets down, he couldn't speak of his enslavement before the imposing man. But the memories were too close, too fresh, demanding they be let out, let go.

"Ryquendë," he didn't mean to speak, meant to bite the words until they slipped back down again, but they would not obey, desperate for air after almost three years of suffocation. "She…she told her sons that story….the night they were murdered."

Silence greeted the confession for a moment, but Vincent's hand never faltered in his hair. Finally, "I did not know she'd had children."

"Two sons, twins, her husband killed them." Cloud's breathing eased. He felt…better, maybe letting the words out helped.

"I am surprised she told you of this."

Cloud could read nothing from the careful neutrality of the words. He didn't speak for a long moment, acutely aware of the second listening presence in the room. This was hard enough with Vincent; he didn't want to speak of it with Sephiroth here too. But he needed to say it, knew if he didn't tell Vincent and get it off his soul, finally speak of her, then it might be years before he reached this place again. The words would be swallowed down again, and left to fester.

But Vincent was asking so much of him to unburden himself with Sephiroth in the room. "I can't…" his eyes shifted to Sephiroth's watching gaze.

"Tell us Cloud, let it go." Vincent's arms tightened about him, telling Cloud he was there, asking him to trust him.

"I…" and then Cloud did, closing his eyes against the sight of green ones as if he could forget the second listener if only he couldn't see him. "When Ryquendë…" he fell into himself, just letting the words come without censoring them to what he considered proper. "When my Lady and I were together, our minds were separate yet joined. I couldn't see her thoughts or memories, but she could see mine, see all of me. If she got angry sometimes things would spill over from her mind to mine."

"When we were first together, learning and traveling, at times it became too much for our minds to process, and my Lady would put us to sleep. My Lady would give me dreams then. She wanted…wanted me to be like _him_, Talahali, her War Lord. My Lady would give me memories of him, but at times other memories slipped through too, emotional ones of hers. The one about my Lady's sons were one of these. It was the last time she held them before they died…"

Vincent's fingers made little circles on Cloud's scalp, "You did well Cloud."

"I wish…sometimes I still want…" he couldn't finish the blasphemous sentence, shouldn't still have these desires for her after all this time.

"I know." Cloud buried his face in the red shoulder. Vincent accepted him even in this. Vincent would never leave him. This was love, true love, so unlike what she had given him.

The second listening presence shifted, and Cloud was abruptly aware of him again. Everything he'd just said, just admitted aloud rushed through his mind, and he stiffened in Vincent's embrace.

"Cloud, it's alright." Vincent tried to sooth him, but it wasn't. He'd opened himself before Sephiroth, who he _did not trust_; given the man a piece of himself, a way to manipulate him.

He pulled away from the embrace and bed, hurrying for the door. "Cloud," Vincent reached for him again, but Cloud, desperate to escape, let the ancient magic spill from his lips and slipped through the gunman's grip. He started to sing the words which would take him from human sight when Vincent's merciless gauntlet clamped about his arm.

"No." Vincent had never spoken so harshly to him before, and he faltered under the fierce eyes. The voice softened then, but Vincent did not release him, "No Cloud, stay. There's no shame here. It's done, let it rest in the past now."

Cloud was shaking, and threw a nervous glance at Sephiroth who had risen from the bed to stand half-naked in the middle of the room, watching him with sharp, intense eyes.

"Come," Vincent pulled at his arms, head tilting to include Sephiroth in the command as well. "I have a story to finish." Cloud allowed his father to pull him to the bed as Sephiroth sank onto the end of it, watching them.

Vincent pulled Cloud closer, his lips resting next to the boy's ear. "You are my son. Nothing can change that. No matter what she did to you, or had you do."

Wetness glazed blue eyes, but he held it back, nodding into Vincent's chest. He knew Vincent was looking at Sephiroth when he'd spoken, and it hurt a bit to know he had to share his father now, but he thought Sephiroth might need Vincent just as much as he did.

His father settled him into his side, and Cloud was again amazed by Vincent's openness today, it was a rare gift. He couldn't help cuddling a little closer as the smooth voice began the tale of the two trees again.


	7. The House of the Serpent

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 7: The House of the Serpent

Tseng's hands dug into the banister railing as his dark, almond shaped eyes gazed down on the sunken gardens below. How could Veld do this to him? The Turk Director knew how much he hated this country, his birth place, Wutai. Veld had been the one to take him out of this hell and into the arms of the Turks, and now his mentor had betrayed him by forcing this mission on him, making him come back to the one place he could not abide.

Tseng closed his eyes, trying to block out the Palace gardens below him, but their fragrant scent still flooded his scenes and the sound of giggling noblemen's daughters filled his ears. His father had taken him here once when Tseng was just a child. The House of Meeh had been one of the richest and most powerful noble Houses in Wutai, and as head of the Meeh family his father had been a welcome and frequent visitor to the Royal Palace. They were wiped out now, all killed in the war with Shinra. Tseng was the last of the Meeh, not that it really mattered; he'd never be able to take his father's name, nor did he want it. He was bastard, and in the eyes of the Wutainese nothing but the black dot on his forehead mattered.

Despite what his half-brothers and father's wife hissed in his ears growing up, his mother had not been a whore. His father, on the rare occasion the man deemed his bastard worthy of time, had spoken fondly of Tseng's mother. Tseng could not remember her, being only five when she'd taken the cholera and died. His father praised her for her beauty and wit, and Tseng supposed the man spoke true, for it was a rare farmer's daughter who caught a nobleman's eye. His father claimed to have loved her, and perhaps he had. He'd not been obligated to take a bastard son into his household and give Tseng an education alongside his legitimate children, but he did, despite his wife's displeasure. And for this Tseng had loved his father when young and innocent, before he'd seen the way the man treated him –like a favored hunting hound, offering scrapes from the table. Tseng was always eager for his father's attentions, but they were few and far between. He was bastard, and it was never forgotten. They'd tattooed the traditional mark of his mother's shame upon his forehead so he would never forget his place.

Tseng never wanted for material things growing up, they were wealthy after all, and even a bastard was clothed and fed, though never as well as his half-brothers. But it was a lonely and hard childhood despite this. His father's wife despised him, as well she might the son of her husband's mistress, and his father's legitimate children followed her lead and filled his days with cruel teasing, spiteful words, and hard fists. They did not want Tseng in their home –a visible mark of shame upon their mother—and they made sure he knew it. They taught him how to fight by beating him until he was strong enough to hit back, they taught him how to swallow his angry words, and how to mask his feeling and thoughts, they taught him how to hold his screams of pain behind clenched teeth and his breath for minutes as they dunked him in the water troughs, and they taught him how to walk on feet silent as a deer's as he hid from them. He never called them family, and they never called him brother, nor even his name unless their father was within earshot. He was bastard, always, inescapably, and the black mark tattooed upon his face burned with their words and taunting eyes.

Tseng was eleven the day his world ended and he learned to hate. He'd thought he'd hated before, but it had only been a shallow, petty thing. His father had marched to war with Shinra, a General of Wutai, and not even a year later was killed in battle. The day news of his father's death arrived was the day Tseng oldest half-brother, the new head of the House of Meeh, cast him into the streets.

Tseng survived as hundreds of other war orphans did by scavenging and thieving. He learned the stages of starvation and the fear of losing toes and fingers to the cold. He quickly discovered why the other street orphan's feared soldiers (Wutai and Shinra alike), pretty little boys were always a welcome diversion for them. Tseng made his way over the high Da Chao peaks, crossing into eastern Wutai and the lands under Shinra control. Life on the other side of the war zone was easier. The Shinra soldiers didn't need to steal the villagers' rice to keep from starving, or cower in the hay stacks while the enemy torched and slaughtered the family who hid them. Shinra were winning, mile by mile they conquered Wutai. They were better armed and better fed, and Tseng was intelligent enough to read the signs of Shinra's inevitable victory.

He was a survivor. When his brother's beat him to the ground, he got back up; when he lay used, broken, and starving in a ditch after soldier's had had their way with him, he force himself to rise and walk through the pain until he'd found a meal and then the next. He was a Meeh, a bastard but a Meeh, of the House of the Serpent, and he would live. He would survive even if there was nothing left of him in the end. All the teaching of his childhood seemed far away now; he learned the true honor of Wutai when her soldiers raped him, and its pride when they hid behind woman and children to save their own worthless lives. Tseng learned how hate can consume a person, blot out every thought and feeling until the heart is blackened by its destroying fire. He learned to hate Wutai and its people, with a special measure reserved for his 'family,' for the brothers who'd turned him from their door like trash.

After Tseng had crossed the lines of war and reached Shinra ruled Wutai, life became a bit easier to bear. Tseng had been breed into the arrogance of nobility, a son of Meeh, Children of the Serpent, and not even months of struggling for survival had crushed the arrogant streak out of him. He'd already used his superior education to his benefit, and here again he knew himself better then the common Wutainese. He got a job as errand boy between a Shinra soldier base and Wutai village; there were few Wutainese who understood the eastern language, and almost none who willingly translated for the invaders. But Tseng no longer cared for Wutai's glory, only his own pride and desperate hunger to survive remained, and he felt no shame in throwing his lot in with the Shinra.

After a time he was given greater responsibilities. They'd take him on Shinra patrols to help keep the peace, and when they discovered he could both read and write in the eastern common tongue, they set him tasks in written translation as well. Easterners knew as little of Wutai and its tongue as the Wutainese knew of them, and his skills were in high demand.

Tseng reveled in the power he found amongst the Shinra. To them he wasn't just a marked bastard, he had worth. He was still Wutai, jungle boy, but he was _their_ jungle boy, and while he despised himself for it, he enjoyed the fond way some of the soldiers ruffled his hair or slipped him sweets and trinkets after a job well done. He wasn't a fool, he knew they treated him much as his father had, like a humored dog yapping at their heels, but it was all he'd ever know and it was better than the way his own people looked at him.

He was thirteen when the Shinra sent him on his first important mission. They were desperate for a native, and trusted their Turks to handle him if he turned traitor. Their mission would take Tseng back across the mountains into Wutai held lands. He didn't ask what the objective was, and of course wasn't told. Turks would be the main force of the mission with some troopers along for backup. Tseng had seen the Turks at a distance when they came through the Shinra base, but had never interacted with Shinra's assassins. The Turks fascinated him. They reminded him of old tales of the emperor's Black Dragons, the ninja's swore to protect the emperor with their lives, the elite of Wutai, the dagger in the shadows.

Tseng watched the Turks as they made their way deep into Wutai ruled lands. They were control. They were the silence of a winter hunt. They were the swift death in the night. They were power, and he wanted that for himself. He listened with the sharp ears of a hawk –it was amusing how often the Shinra overlooked him, seeing slanted eyes and dark hair and forgetting he knew their language as well as them. He quickly learned that the Turk with hair the color of bronze and a ragged scar upon his cheek, was Veld, General of the Turks, and Tseng thought long on how to win this one's notice. But he was jungle boy, cunt-eyed, gook, the Shinra could no more look passed the blood in his veins then the Wutainese could the tattoo on his forehead. That was until he _made_ them see him. He was not a common star-eyed boy to be pushed aside and forgotten, he was a son of Meeh, his father had been cousin to the emperor; he made the Turks sit up and notice take notice –though a convenient surprise attack by Wutainese forces didn't hurt getting their attention either.

Their party was crossing the mountain's high-pass when the Wutainese struck, using superior numbers and the bottleneck of the high-pass to pin them down. The Shinra force was too small to fight its way through, they were relying on stealth not strength for this mission, and the Wutainese blocked the western and eastern entrances of the narrow pass; it was an ideally placed ambush. However, Tseng was no stranger to these mountains, his father's lands butted up against their steep slopes and Tseng had accompanied his brothers more than once on hunting expeditions into the mountains.

He had his suspicions about this mission's objective, but his heart was black with hate, and he tasted only ash and bitterness in his mouth when he thought of the suffering his half-brother's treatment had brought him. So he looked into the hard face of the Shinra Turk General and said in a voice that had long since ironed out any accent to the eastern words, "I can help you." Calculating brown eyes survived him, weighing his trustworthiness and doubting. "You can kill me if I guide you wrong, but I will show you a path that will lead us higher into the mountains –a goat's trail. It will take us safely passed the Wutainese soldiers and down into the Meeh lands beyond."

He deliberately added his knowledge of whose lands they were entering, watching for the tell-tale sharpening of the Turk's eyes, and yes, it was there. The Turk General watched him silently for a long moment, and then said in a voice roughed by years of smoking the eastern tobacco, "Why should I trust my men's lives to you, Wut." It was a slur upon his blood, but Tseng had heard it and worse names too many times to let his face show anything but apathy.

Tseng shrugged, "Only you can decide that, Shinra. I have offered my help, it is yours to refuse." A pause, "If you wish it I will take you to the gates of the Meeh family house."

The Turk General stiffened slightly, and Tseng knew he'd been right in his suspicions. He was leading the party who would bring death upon the house of Meeh, and he didn't care. It was not a surprise really, the Meeh were the closest kin to the emperor, and since Lord Godo had only one infant daughter and no sons, the rule of Wutai would fall into the hands of the Meeh family were Lord Godo to die. It was only a wonder Shinra hadn't killed the Meeh sooner. They were a mighty, warrior family, his father had been blessed with ten sons and no daughters; they would be a power upon Wutai's throne.

"I could kill you here, Wut," the Turk threatened, hand slipping into his blue suit to wrap about a gun.

But Tseng did not flinch, "You could, and then you'd all be killed by the Wutainese, or you can take my help and finish your mission."

"You know what our objective is." It wasn't a question, but Tseng nodded anyway. "How?" The Turk's iron grip clamped down over Tseng's wrist, but he didn't try to escape.

"The same way I know of the goat path, I grew up in the Meeh lands, and I know the House of the Serpent is united in blood with the House of the Dragon, the Kisaragi clan's house. It is not as much a secret as you seem to think, Shinra, and its only common sense to deduce Shinra's goals from there."

The Turk General Veld did not end up killing Tseng, instead he took his help, though warily and with the very real threat of death should he betray them. Tseng led them safely through the mountains and as promised right to the engraved gates of the house he'd spend his childhood behind. The Meeh family was not wiped out that day, for some of his half-brothers had been off fighting in the war, but Tseng watched the Turks kill his father's wife and many of his half-brothers and felt nothing but vindication at the sight.

When Veld asked him why he had betrayed his country Tseng had smiled a smile overflowing with the bitter-pain this country had brought him, and rubbed the tattoo forever marking him as bastard. "You know little of Wutai culture, do you Shinra?" He asked and Veld said nothing, only watching Tseng finger the mark upon his forehead. "When a child is born to an unwed mother they mark him as bastard, and he carries this mark for the rest of his life." A pause, and Veld's face revealed his understanding. "I can be nothing in Wutai, but in the east perhaps I might make something of myself."

When Veld offered Tseng a place among his Turks as they crossed back into Shinra lands, Tseng readily accepted, and never once regretted it. But Veld knew exactly how much Tseng wished never to return to Wutai, and had promised Tseng he'd never send him on a mission to his birth country. Yet here he was, in the Royal Palace itself, ordered here by Veld, his mentor, whom he trusted above all others. Tseng was not ashamed of choosing Shinra, but being here in this land he only wanted to forget, forced him to remember what he was to his own people –bastard, traitor, Shinra dog— caused hair-line fractures in the perfect cold mask he'd worked so hard to create as a Turk.

Tseng knew he was a skilled Turk, one of the best. He'd cultivated an image of sophistication and arrogance that served him well among the Turks. It had been easy, he'd merely had to shore up the haughty pride he'd been breed with as a Meeh, a bastard nobleman of Wutai. No one knew he dressed in his immaculate blue suit in a mirrorless closet, or that he slicked his fine hair back by feel alone. Removing the mirrors from his apartment's bathroom had been his first act when moving in. When he passed glass windows in the streets he always kept his eyes straight ahead. He didn't want to see dark almond eyes or the paleness of his skin; he didn't want to be reminded of his blood. He lied to himself and said the cruel words and slanders could not touch him as he rose through the Turk ranks. He pretended to turn deft ears to the whispers of 'Wut' and 'jungle boy.' They meant nothing, his heart was black and his face was frozen against their insults, or so he told himself. He couldn't meet his eyes in the mirror though, lies would only go so far.

Tseng had survived, it was what he did, and if his arrogance was now only a mask for the insecurity's the world had beaten into him, no one but him would ever know. He took a very real pride in his work, so it was easy to play the part of haughty perfectionist. The only ones who caught even a glimpse of the real Tseng were the Turks who'd earned his trust and respect. No one else could understand the lies Turks told themselves in the night but another Turk, or how they justify their actions, or drank away the shreds of guilt. Every Turk dealt with it differently, until they sunk so far into the job they didn't even notice the pieces of their humanity being peeled away strip by strip.

Veld had betrayed him by forcing this mission on him, as he would have betrayed Reno by giving him mission to a whore house, or Rude by forcing the silent Turk to kill a little girl with black curls. There were things in all their pasts that were never mentioned; every Turk had a limit to what they could bear, and while it was never spoke of, they all respected each other's limits. But Veld hadn't cared, and Tseng found it very hard to forgive his mentor, he certainly wouldn't be forgetting. How could he when the very air breathed with the scent of jasmine and thyme, throwing him back to unwanted memories of childhood. He never wanted to walk these halls again, or fly over the rice fields knowing what had been done to him in some of those ditches. He never wanted to smell boiling seaweed and remember the ache of his belly when he had nothing but his imagination to feed him. And he certainly never wanted to pass a street-side poet and hear the once cherished teachings of Wutai's honor and pride rubbed in his face, reminding him of how very far he'd fallen for that high-line.

Tseng had chosen the Turks, knowing what they were. He'd gone in with his eyes open and never looked back. There had been nothing for him in Wutai, but he didn't want to dwell on his choices. He knew, every time he killed or tortured a person in the name of Shinra, that he didn't deserve forgiveness for he'd chosen this life willingly; chosen to forget everything he once was. He'd bartered his honor for power. It made him sick sometimes, but he couldn't imagine every taking off his blue suit. He'd die in it, and be buried in it. He was a Turk to the bone, and while he may hate himself and what he did at times, he knew he'd never leave it. He'd forsaken family and country and made his fellow Turks his brothers and sisters. They had become each other's rocks and partner demons in the hell of their own making. They were the only ones he could trust; only another Turk could truly understand another Turk, and stand with them in whatever end, never judging or being judged.

But Veld had chosen the Company over a Turk, something he did more and more often as the years passed. Veld had changed ever since the rebel war started eating away at the empire, no, the Turk Director had started changing when word of Vincent Valentine's survival and refusal to return to the Turks came. Valentine was a traitor to the Turks, Tseng knew that, but Veld took not only Valentine's betrayal to the Turks, but his very life as a personal insult.

Veld had spoken occasionally of his old partner in the years before the rebel war. Veld and Valentine had been partners for nearly a decade, and none of Veld's subsequent partners had lasted long, so it was only natural the Director would speak of Valentine on occasion. But it had always been with the respect for a fallen comrade, and the fondness of old memories. Tseng had heard Veld compare more than one wannabe hotshot sniper to his old partner's skill, saying he'd never seen a better gunman then Valentine. When Reno had first entered the Turks, right off the streets with a cocky attitude and flaming hair matching the fire of his tongue, Veld used to muse wistfully on how silent and socially awkward Valentine had been. Everything had changed though, after Valentine's mysterious resurrection.

Tseng had read the man's file –the Turk one—Valentine had reportedly been killed by monsters on his last mission to Nibelheim, but they knew better now, oh yes. Now Hojo claimed he'd shot Valentine for treachery, saying Valentine had been trying to sabotage Shinra research, but Tseng didn't believe anything so simple had occurred. Valentine had been a Turk for ten years, you don't just suddenly decide to turn traitor for no reason. The experiments Hojo conducted on the ex-Turk were further evidence of something dubious occurring in Tseng's opinion. Hojo had not allowed anyone to read his experiment notes on Valentine; in fact he'd destroyed them when hearing of Valentine's allegiance with the rebels, which was more than a little suspicious.

It made Tseng's blood run cold to think of a _Turk_ being experimented on and used as a lab rat. Turks weren't invulnerable to the Shinra political machine, but one of their own being used as a science experiment was unacceptable –unforgivable. Tseng didn't like what it said about the Turk's position in the Company, and even less what it said about Turk loyalty. Veld hadn't given even a token protest to the uses his former partner had been subject to when Valentine's true fate had been unveiled. In fact, it had been exactly the opposite. Veld nurtured a personal grudge against Valentine for his refusal to return to the Company who'd used and discarded him like an animal. It was irrational, and went against every fiber of Tseng's being. Valentine was a Turk –once a Turk, always a Turk—Shinra had fucked the man up the ass, and Veld couldn't care less.

Turks _always_ protected their own –before Shinra or the job—those meant nothing in the face of Turk loyalty. It was sacred, the unwritten rule that held the Turks together and made them what they were. Their loyally to each other, not the Company, was the reason they killed, the reason they could face themselves in the mirror, the reason they wiped off that blood on their hands threw back a drink and headed into work the next day. The bond between Turks was stronger than any that flowed through veins.

At least that was Tseng's interpretation of what it meant to be a Turk. But he was far from blind to the way Veld chose the Company before his Turks over and over again. Turks were treated as bloodsucking leeches by the rest of the world, they had only each other to trust with their backs. A fellow Turk's life came before the Company's interests or the job, but not all Turks shared Tseng's view which was why he had to be careful who he trusted –even within the Turks. Tseng knew better than to voice his opinion, it didn't meld with the official line of Turk loyalty. So he kept his mouth shut and rose through the ranks, and swore if he ever sat in Veld's office and called it his own, things would be different.

Tseng turned his back to the Palace gardens, moving back into the airy room he'd been provided with for the duration of the Peace Talks. His own abhorrence for this place ceased to matter; he was on a mission now, and it was time he started acting like a Turk and not a traumatized child. He'd survive these Peace Talks, they were hardly the worst he'd experienced in his twenty-two years.

Carefully Tseng dressed himself in the crisp blue suit, making sure not one wrinkle or line was out of place. There was a huge carved mirror hanging along the right wall which he studiously avoided. Sometimes he imagined he could forget what he looked like if he avoided his reflection long enough, but there were always almond eyes waiting to greet him in the glass. He tucked his elegant hand gun into its holster just below his left arm pit, and pulled the suit jacket on. The familiar feel of the pressed suit and comforting weight of his gun reminded him of his duty and who he was –a Turk—and he wore both without shame.

Tseng made short work of gathering the other Turks Veld had chosen for the mission. There weren't many, only the most self-restrained, Reno had certainly not made the cut. The red-head had his own unique brand of intimidation, but it had no place in formal international negotiations.

Personally Tseng thought it would have been wiser to assign him command of the Turk's not marked for this mission –it wasn't as if the rest of the world was frozen in status while the negotiations commenced—but he knew well enough why Veld had chosen to take his Second in Command instead of leaving Tseng to manage the other's Turks. Tseng was Wutainese. Oh yes, Tseng understood, and like a good dog he came when his master called, and even did tricks. Did the emperor wish to see how well trained a Wutainese could become? Bring Tseng, show him off like a prized hound brought to heel.

Tseng took a calming breath, in through the noise fill the belly and out through the mouth, and let the thoughts bleed away. He was a Turk, he was control. He had chosen this, and yes, he supposed when he was younger and still a little naïve, he'd thought he could make anyone see beyond the slant of his eyes, but he knew better now. He'd risen high in Shinra's ranks, but he had no more power now then he had as a war orphan living on the streets. People feared him, shied away from his shadow, some respected him even. He had the power of the gun, of the executioner, but he was not his own; he had no real freedom. He'd sold himself to Shinra, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. If he'd stayed in Wutai he knew without a doubt it would have ruined him. He'd be one of those beggar men; perhaps his leg blown off in a random attack during the war, perhaps turning to drugs and alcohol when pride caved in. No, Tseng didn't once regret what Shinra had made him. He'd make the same choice ever time.

Tseng slid the arrogant mask he'd prefect over his face and led the small party of Turks through the Palace corridors to the designated meeting room. He shoved down the shame and the rage –it meant nothing. He was a Turk. He'd forget himself and become the job. His own feelings ceased to matter.

Tseng distracted himself with the Turks under his command and the job at hand. He was thankful Cissnei had been assigned this mission. The slight, russet-haired girl was always strictly professional and didn't have the slumbering tempers more than one Turk struggled to keep in check. It seemed to come with the job. Many of the Turks had dark pasts and anger or emotional detachment were two of the most common responses to their histories.

Though some Turks, like Reno, were not so easily categorized. Reno had been picked up after a deal went sour with one of the slum drug lords; Shinra was hardly above using such connections if it got them what they wanted. Reno had been one of the whore's for sale, tripping high as a kite when the Turk's busted in, and the gangly slum rat had still put up one hell of a fight. He'd been to drugged up to decided between fighting the Turks or his pimps, maybe not quite knowing if he wanted escape and the cold drugless streets or to stay with the one's who'd provided his addiction. Tseng had liked what he'd seen in the teen; even disoriented he'd fought like a wild cat and had a determination in pale green eyes that caught the Turk's attention. After Reno suffered through cold-turkey rehab and the rigorous Turk training, he hid himself behind a cocky smirk and foul mouth, or at least Tseng thought he did, but it was hard to tell with Reno. Tseng wouldn't have put it past the unconventional Turk to forgo the traditional masks and shove the real Reno in the world's face. Sometimes people were exactly what they appeared to be.

Rude was another of the Turks assigned this mission, and another good choice. Rude could always be counted on to hold his tongue in volatile situations and have your back, though how Reno was holding up without his partner in Midgar, Tseng didn't want to contemplate. Rude, Cissnei, and Reno were some of the Turks he trusted most; they, like him, ranked their partners and other Turks as higher valued then a job. There were few enough others Tseng could trust.

Tseng took the Turks though a conscientious sweep of the meeting room, assuring it was clean and safe for the President's arrival. Veld would bring Rufus down when the Talks began latter this hour. The President would be surrounded by a flashy SOLDIER escort to rub Shinra's power in Wutai's face. Tseng hardly minded; he'd rather not deal with Rufus in his current mood.

Rufus could be quite a challenge on an average day as Tseng learned years ago on his first assignment of 'babysitter' to the young child Rufus. All the Turks rotated in and out of the duty, there were few who could stand the spoilt young heir, and it only got worse when Rufus entered his rebellious teenage years. Rufus's attitude was hardly surprising; he'd never had anything approaching stability or boundaries growing up, nor the hardship necessary to learn self-discipline. The only rules Rufus had known where those made to keep him out of kidnapper's hands and his father's way, which the child constantly tried to break.

Rufus had wanted attention and affection from his father (Lady Shinra having died in childbirth) as any other child would, but never received it and acted out as a result. With no punishment handed down he'd grown increasingly bratty over time. The young heir was used to getting his way, and having people at his beck and call. He'd quickly discovered the power of the Turks, and as he grew the need for love and recognition morphed into something more sinister –a love of power. Not a surprising development, but coupled with inexperience and the ego of a prince, it made for a less than ideal President. Tseng cared no more for Rufus then he had for the past President, though he would give his life for Rufus if it was necessary. However, Tseng did have some slim hope that Rufus might grow into something more than his father's son. Rufus was young yet, just seventeen, but it was an uphill battle against Shinra's rampant corruption, one Tseng feared Rufus would inevitably lose.

Tseng completed one last sweep of the meeting room. It was built in the traditional Wutainese style –as was the rest of the Palace—with cedar floors and simply carved pillars, a low ceiling, and walls thin enough to see shadows through. The emperor didn't appear concerned with offending his gusts, if the heavy throne standing at the end of a long table was anything to judge by. Lord Godo was eager to remind Shinra and the CNO exactly who ruled Wutai. Not that it would make much difference. The only reason Wutai had been chosen for the negotiations site was because it was as close to neutral ground between the CNO and Shinra as they could find. Wutai had little power, ever here in their capital city, and they would understand their true worth –or lack thereof—by the end of these negotiations. Tseng felt only a detached sense of pity for his birth country. It had been great once, a mighty empire, but had let its pride and stubborn refusal to move into the new age lead to its downfall, clinging to the branch of tradition, not realizing it couldn't save them from the ocean of Change.

Tseng took his Turks out to wait in the high-ceilinged entry hall, ignoring the hateful looks the Wutainese Royal Guards sent him, and their murmured curses of traitor and bastard. He gave them a dismissive glance, showing just how far above them he was, all the while pretending the dark mark on his forehead didn't burn with the scorch of their distain.

The Turks idled in the hall as they awaited their President's arrival. Cissnei fiddled with her gloves, poking at a tiny hole in the black leather. Rude stood like a statue, only his head turning every once in a while to observe the other Turks or sweeping his shaded eyes over the wide hall. Anita, one of the Turks Tseng did not care for, wandered over to the indoor fish pond and rested one of her long legs on the stone ledge, a cascade of straight black hair falling to nearly brush the water's surface. Tseng had little in common with a woman who'd chosen to join the Turks out of boredom with the privileged lifestyle she'd been born into. Anita was one of the Turks who placed Company interest before her fellow Turks, and Tseng was wary of her; she'd willingly betray another Turk if it helped her climb the ladder of Shinra power.

Maria was the last Turk in their party. The curly-haired blonde was still relatively green and could live up to her hair color at times, but she was a good shot and loyal. Shotgun, as her fellow Turks had nicknamed her, had learned the value of Turk loyalty the hard way. Tseng had had to cover for the girl on a mission she'd botched; if he hadn't saved her ass she'd have received a one-way ticket to the morgue courtesy of Shinra. Tseng didn't usually risk his own health on a fellow Turk's screw up. It was the way things were in the Turks, if you messed up on a mission you took the consequences. But Tseng hadn't judged Maria's mistake worthy of death, so he'd intervened and inadvertently earned the girl's undying loyalty when he saved her from the consequences of her own over-confidence. Shotgun had lost the over-blown ego that had gotten her into the mess, and while she could still be a bit scatter-brained at times, she was a decent Turk to have at your back.

The distinct sound of approaching boots and murmured voices drifted down the long hall, and Tseng snapped his Turks back into form with a soft warning. A group of CNO Hands rounded the corner, and Tseng was pleased to see his Turks standing straight, emanating a satisfactory air of cold intimidation. The Turks watched the Hands approach, sizing them up.

Tsang had yet to meet a CNO Hand in combat, and was curious on how well they were trained. Undeniably the CNO had excellent intelligence, though Veld could be heard cursing Valentine for his unnatural hacking ability's after more than one thwarted classified mission. Tseng wondered how much of the Hands success were traced back to their Turk-trained leader, and how much skill they possessed without Valentine's guidance.

The Hands surveyed the Turks in turn as they walked closer, keeping a sensible distance between themselves and the Turks. They pulled up with a subtle hand signal from the leading fair-haired Hand, halting across the hall from the stationary Turks. The two groups watched each other in weighted silence for a long moment. Tseng gave them a condescending look, and took a measure of pride in noting the Hands less then perfected masks of indifference. He could see the hints of curiosity and nerves splitting through the cracks –they weren't up to Turk standards. He found himself wishing Reno were among his Turks, he'd have enjoying watching the Hands crumble in offended embarrassment under the red-heads swagger. Reno acted like a cocky, lazy little shit, but every word, every seemly careless move was precisely calculated for the greatest offence, intent on throwing his opponents out of their depth.

Tseng conceded that most of the Hands didn't have the training his Turks did –the organization was just under two years old—but he still took smug satisfaction in knowing the CNO Hands didn't posses the Turks' seemingly effortless flair for intimidation.

The slender girl who looked too young, seemed to be the group's leader, and Tseng spent an extra moment evaluating her. Tseng knew Shotgun had a younger sister, and they'd all heard an earful from Shotgun when the girl and run off the join the rebels. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the same girl. Brown eyes met his obsidian ones from across the hall, and Tseng detected the faintest of blushes stain her fair cheeks, though she refused to look away. Still, it was far too obvious in the way her eyes flickered over him, that she found him attractive. She was hardly the first to give him such a look, and while he couldn't bear to hold his own eyes in the mirror, he wasn't fool enough not to realize others found him well formed of face and body. It was unprofessional of the girl, and Tseng didn't care for the way an assessing glance had turned into a blatant stare. He was the first to look away, dismissing her.

The clink of metal boots caused his eyes to swivel back down the hall as the unmistakable figure of Vincent Valentine seemed to emerge from shadows Tseng could have swore were not deep enough to hide even a cat, less a man over six feet tall. Valentine was decked out in his strange attire. Tseng had caught a glimpse of the man at the welcoming ceremony yesterday eve, and thought the clothing was a little much, but as the man drew closer Tseng was struck with how oddly appropriate they were. If anyone else had tried to gallivant about in metal-tipped boots, a red-cape, and hair as wild as midnight, he would've found them ridiculous and in need of a one-way ticket to a carnival, but the assembly just fit Valentine strangely enough. They made him appear even more mysterious and dangerous rather than laughable.

Blood-red eyes ran over the faced off lines of Turks and Hands before settling on the Hand's fair-haired leader. "Elena," Valentine's voice was deep and smooth like an ocean seabed with the texture of finely ground sand at its core. "Have you completed a sweep of the room?"

The girl, Elena, flushed slightly, "No, boss." Valentine didn't have to say anything else as the girl hastened to lean her command into the waiting meeting rooms leaving Valentine alone with the watching line of Turks. There was something like amusement in the red eyes as they flickered over to meet Tseng's, and Tseng had the feeling the man had detected his Hand's blooming and inappropriate attraction in the bare seconds it had taken the ex-Turk to survey the scene.

Valentine's silent gaze lingered over the Turks for another moment leaving Tseng feeling strangely exposed, not even Veld's hard brown eyes left him feeling so unsure. He felt like a fresh-faced rookie under the weight of those eyes, and it suddenly ceased to matter that Valentine had essentially betrayed the Turks and was part of the rebellion who threatened Shinra and his Turks position in the world order. Valentine was the embodiment of everything that separated Turks from the rest of the world and caused them to be shunned and feared, left on the outside looking in and clinging to each other with the desperation of icy-hail on frozen steel. Valentine was a killer. It was written in the detached lines of his face, the careful way he held himself, always conscious of the gun strapped to his leg and the power of life and death it endowed him. Valentine was a trained assassin –Turk trained—and the difference between him and his Hands was a mile wide. The saying 'Once a Turk, always a Turk' had never meant so much. When jeweled eyes met Tseng's again he knew Valentine felt it too, the unconscious way the red eyes lingered on the blue of their suits –as if unwillingly—thirty years, and no matter what side of this war the man fought on loyalty to the suit and those who wore it still remained, if only by the skin of its teeth.

The clipped sound of approaching footsteps broke Valentine's gaze, and they all turned to assess the new arrival. It was Veld and the Turk Director looked less then pleased. Veld's eyes locked on Valentine and the weathered face became even darker.

A sneer twisted Veld's scared face, "Valentine," brown eyes raked scornfully over his ex-partner's form. "What are you wearing?" Valentine's face never shifted from its blank stare. "Have you washed your hair this decade?" The man's emotionless mask seemed to egg Veld on.

"Dirty mongrel," Veld muttered as he deliberately turned his back on the unresponsive man. "Tseng!" He barked.

"Yes sir."

"Why aren't my men securing the premises for the President's arrival?" Veld demanded.

"We have already completed a sweep of the area, sir."

"Is that so?" Veld sneered, and Tseng was thrown by the blatant distain in his mentor's face. He was used to Veld's harsh criticism, but this was…something more. "Are those or are those not CNO operatives I see in the meeting room now?"

Tseng's eyes flickered to the open door, confirming what he already knew, that Elena was running the Hands through their own inspection of the room. "Yes sir."

"And you thought it appropriate to leave rebel combatants unsupervised in a room your President will be entering in less then thirty minutes?"

Tseng was silent. He supposed he had been careless, and had no excuse for his leniency.

"Rude, conduct another scan of the room," Veld ordered, and Rude nodded silently before leading the Turks back into the meeting room. Tseng wanted to close his eyes in shame at Veld's public and humiliating reprimand, but he didn't let himself indulge in such an obvious sign of weakness.

Veld stepped closer to Tseng as they found themselves alone in the hall but for Valentine's silently observing presence. Veld's more muscular figure seemed to tower over Tseng even though he could now meet Veld's eyes levelly. Veld could always make him feel like a child again, but he forced himself to look into Veld's cold face. He didn't understand what had set his mentor off, he never publicly punished Tseng for a failure.

"Now, you are going to accompany the President into the meetings today. Don't give me that look boy," Veld snapped at Tseng's incredulous expression. "You forget your place. You have one purpose here, and only one, Wut."

Tseng couldn't quite bite back a gasp and quickly struggled to pull an unconcerned mask over his shock, but he knew it was too late to hide the hurt confusion that had flashed in his eyes. Veld hadn't spoken to him so cruelly since he'd joined the Turks at thirteen, and never once called him a derogatory term since that day he'd saved the man and his Turks from the Wutainese up in the Da Chao Mountains. It had meant less than nothing when Veld had just been the Shinra Turk General and he a boy desperate for a life away from Wutai, but Veld was his mentor now and his words cut deeper then Tseng was willing to admit. Things had grown progressively strained between them over the last few years since the rebel war started, but Tseng still couldn't believe it had come to this.

He looked into the unforgiving face of the man he'd trusted more than any other, and found it hard to recognize him. There was the light of madness in the shadows of Veld's eyes, and Tseng knew he'd been blind to the evidence for some time. It was hardly a look he'd not seen before. He'd seen that unhinged madness in the eyes of rookies after their first kill when he'd put a gun to their heads and taken care of the ones who didn't have what it took to be a Turk. And he'd seen it in old veterans who'd slowly buckled under the complete loss of their humanity, falling so far into the job that they started to revel in the blood they shed –carving it like a drug. He never thought he'd see it in Veld's eyes though. His mentor had always been a rock, unbreakable; it seemed impossible the Turk Director could be losing his grip on sanity. Veld had been a Turk for almost thirty-five years, it was incomprehensible that he would lose himself now, but Tseng supposed he shouldn't be as shocked as he was. Shinra was falling, the world was changing, and everything Veld had worked for –the Company he'd thrown his life into after his wife and daughter's death—was failing.

But Veld was still the Director of the Turks, and Tseng had to reason with the man. Whatever Veld was becoming, Tseng had to hope his mentor could get a hold of himself. Tseng feared what would become of the Turks if their Director failed them. "I told you once, Veld, that you knew little of Wutai culture, and it's still true." He said calmly, as if Veld had not just treated him like a dog, as if he'd not just looked into brown eyes and seen the shine of madness. "You would have me escort the President because of my blood, to show me off before the emperor, but it would backfire on what Shinra hopes to accomplish."

Veld pulled back, a frown on his lips, and Tseng was relieved to see Veld was not passed reason.

"You know what I am-"

"A bastard," Veld filled in, and Tseng did not flinch at the starkness of the word on Veld's tongue, though he wished Valentine was not watching quite so closely. He would have preferred to have this conservation in private.

"And a traitor," Tseng continued. "It would help Shinra's position none at all if you forced my presence onto the emperor. It would be an insult of the highest measure to bring a traitor into the emperor's presence."

Veld's mouth twisted, but Tseng did not think the scorn was aimed at him this time, though Veld threw out, "You had better not be pulling this excuse out of your ass, Tseng."

Tseng wanted to roll his eyes, and if they had been alone three years ago, before the war, he would have. And Veld would have chided him for disrespected, but there would have been a smile behind his eyes as he did it, but they were not alone and Tseng was not nineteen and at ease with his mentor's presence anymore.

Thankfully Veld seemed to have accepted Tseng's explanation, and was willing to let the matter rest; unfortunately, Veld's attention reverted back to the only other presence in the hallway. Tseng was torn between risking drawing Veld's attention away from the ex-Turk, and his curiosity to see how Valentine would interact with his old partner. Other than a brief meeting at yesterday's welcoming ceremony, this was the two old comrade's first meeting in twenty-five years.

"You really let yourself go, Valentine." Veld chose to mock the ex-Turk which didn't surprised Tseng. "You used to be so fastidious with your suit, and fused over your hair like a woman. Now you look like you crawled out of a ditch." Veld eyed the mud-stained, tattered cloak and unkempt black hair. "Is this complement of Hojo then? I have wondered what that crack job did to you, Valentine, but other than your…bestial appearance you don't look too different."

Valentine gave his first reaction to Veld's words, his chin rose from the concealment of the mantel and he flashed Veld a smile that looked more wolfish then human; it would have been right at home with a pair of fangs. "You are looking well yourself, Veld." Valentine said as if Veld had offered him a compliment.

Veld snorted, "Still as arrogant as ever. You know, I never liked you Valentine, and I don't think you've improved with age."

Valentine cocked his head like a bird, "While it is true we were not best suited as partners, we called each other friend once upon a time."

Veld snarled, "And I lived to regret it! Why didn't you just stay dead, Valentine?"

Valentine frowned slightly, just the tiniest impression of thin lips pulling down. "Unfortunately Hojo saw to my long life."

"Did he now? Well perhaps I should finish what he started all those years ago and send you to hell, old partner."

"It is no more then I deserve," Vincent agreed, almost too softly to hear. "But I am afraid it might be harder to accomplish then you think, Veld."

"You still think yourself so fucking special?"

"I never thought myself better then you, Veld." Valentine countered quietly, and then he looked away and whispered, "I just don't know if I can die, can the dead die?"

Tseng didn't know what to make of the man's words, and apparently neither did Veld, but the glint of an insane hate was burning in the brown eyes as they stared as if transfixed upon the ex-Turk. "I should kill you, Valentine. I'll make you suffer for what you did to my family."

Valentine frowned in confusion, "Juliet?"

"Yes," Veld hissed, "Felicia and Juliet, you killed them!" Valentine's lips parted in a sign of his confusion, but Veld wasn't done. "Curse you, Valentine, curse you to hell you son of a bitch. It's your fault, yours-" Veld's voice broke, throat choked with the venom of his hate.

"Veld, I'd never hurt them," Valentine's hand rose, his feet carrying him a few confused steps toward his old partner. "Never. How can you think this? Do you forget who introduced you to Juliet? She was a good woman, a good friend, and Felicia you…Veld, you made her my _goddaughter_, I'd never…" Valentine's human hand settled on Veld's shoulder, his face open for the first time, echoing sorrowful bewilderment at Veld's accusations.

Veld faltered, his own metal hand grabbing at Valentine's cloak as if surprised to find the man suddenly before him. "Vincent? I…" Veld's scared face twisted with the ache of an old wound that would never, ever heal. "I killed…Felicia…" he gasped, the pain so acute it was physical.

Valentine didn't speak. Red eyes burned with a thousand words as they held Veld's, his clawed hand coming up to greet Veld's searching metal grip.

The moment was shattered almost as soon as it took root. Tseng had never seen his mentor so open, and it shook him. He'd known Veld had lost his family, of course, but it had been some years before he joined the Turks and Veld never spoke of what he'd lost, what he'd essentially destroyed with his own hands.

Veld pulled himself violently from Valentine's grip, face hardening, and now it seemed as likely to show emotion as tears could be wrung from a stone. "I told her not to go. She promised me she'd stay home." Veld recited in a dead voice. "But Juliet, she just had to go to the Kalm festival that day, and do you know why, Valentine?"

Valentine's own face shuttered into wariness, but Tseng saw a growing dread and knowledge scrolled into the pale skin. Whatever the reason for Veld's wife to take their daughter to Kalm that day and right into a hit zone, Valentine already suspected.

"It was because of _you_!" Veld spat. "Juliet had to go, every year since you 'died,' because _you_. You just had to take my wife and daughter to that god dammed festival! If you hadn't shown it to them they never would have been there, if you hadn't 'died' she wouldn't have gone against my warnings. I told her, but no, she thought I just wanted to forget you, didn't want to remember…why didn't she listen to me?" His voice cracked, lost and full of hate and pain.

"I am sorry-"

"You're _sorry_?" Veld laughed and it was a horrifying sound. "You're sorry?" Valentine fell back into silence, face dipping to hide behind his mantle as if he could escape. "You can keep your fucking apologies, Valentine. You're not half as sorry as I am going to make you when I am done."

"Veld-" Valentine made an abortive gesture towards his old partner, but Veld slapped the reaching hand away.

"Get off me," he snarled. "I am going to take everything away from you, Valentine. You're going to suffer like I've suffered."

Valentine pulled away; face falling back into blankness, eyes like hollow blood. "There is nothing you can take from me that Hojo did not take before you."

"There's always something," Veld said, his eyes fierce with promise. He turned away, giving his back to the ex-Turk. Veld jerked his head at Tseng. "Get in there, boy, and see what's taking those fools so long." Tseng bit his tongue and offered his mentor a stiff nod before Veld turned to stalk back down the corridor leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

Tseng looked back at Valentine, but could read nothing in the man's face. He found himself searching for something to say, which was ridiculous; he didn't even know the man. But he was struck suddenly with the knowledge that he wanted to. Valentine intrigued him, he'd not felt this much fascination with something since he'd first seen the Turks as a child. Valentine reminded him of Veld in the years before the rebel war. Valentine was everything he'd ever admired about the Turks and more. He felt pulled toward the magnetic presence of the man like a moon caught in the orbit of a dark and perilous planet.

Tseng was no fool, and could smell the winds of change. The world order was upset and he didn't know how Shinra would emerge from these Peace Talks, but could guarantee they wouldn't be getting their lost empire back. Shinra wasn't the only world power now, and Tseng swore he would do what he had to to secure the Turks' future in this new world, with or without Veld's approval. Veld was stuck in the age of Shinra's dominance, and would never bend to the new game rules, but Tseng wasn't going to let Veld or Rufus's short-minded arrogance take the Turks down with them.

His dark eyes followed Valentine's back as the man walked away. This was more than Tseng's own personal interest in the ex-Turk's captivating presence now. Valentine was the head of the CNO's Hands, a leader in the new world order, and potentially valuable ally. Tseng would step carefully now, collect allies, build power bases where he could, and secure the Turks' survival in the seas of Change the next few years promised to bring.


	8. Confederation of the New Order, Part II

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 8: Confederation of the New Order, Part II

Before leaving for the opening negotiations and his obligations as Ryquendë's Hand, Vincent requested Sephiroth wear the handcuffs again should anyone disturbed them during the day. He did not want the Wutainese or Rufus discovering Sephiroth's freedom. Sephiroth agreed with the request, understanding the necessity of it. Cloud had not asked how the cuffs came to be taken off in the beginning, or why the General hadn't left with his freedom, that was between Vincent and his son.

Cloud was prepared for another long boring day locked in their rooms, but with the added awkwardness of Vincent's departure and the intimacy of his confessions laying naked as a squalling babe between Sephiroth and himself. Cloud was intensely aware of the gaping hole of vulnerability he'd spread before Sephiroth like a feast. The gunman's presence had held the reality of what he'd revealed about his past at bay, but now Vincent was gone Cloud was left with nothing but his former distrust.

They ate breakfast in uncomfortable silence –at least on Cloud's part—he couldn't tell what Sephiroth was thinking behind the smooth mirror of green eyes. He toyed with his chopsticks, fingers clumsy as he maneuvered the foreign utensils, struggling to scoop up the milk-soaked rice. It wasn't his idea of a filling breakfast, but his appetite had fled under the steady weight of Sephiroth's eyes on his bent head. He picked at the melons and berries littering the milky rice, wondering what the man was thinking.

Cloud was startled out of his brooding thoughts by Sephiroth's sudden question. "What exactly did the witch do to you? It was some sort of mind magic, but it sounds different from what I've observed before."

Cloud stilled, blue eyes not rising from his meal. Vincent had told him Ryquendë had attempted to 'persuade' Sephiroth to her side, just as he knew she would. He wondered how deeply the witch's magic had delved into the General's mind. She would have had to use a great measure of her limited powers against someone so strong willed, but what he'd shared with Ryquendë when he'd been her vessel was the darkest of all magics. A soul binding. He had no will, no thoughts but what she allowed him. She knew him completely, every thought, every memory, his whole being laid down for her pickings.

He was silent for so long Sephiroth had given up on an answer and turned back to his own rice bowl. Cloud wanted to speak even though he couldn't imagine why. Had he not exposed himself enough today? He _never _talked about this, and yet…and yet he wanted to now.

"A soul bond," his soft voice drew Sephiroth's eyes again, but he didn't meet them, still focused on the breakfast he was never going to finish. "It's dark magic, the darkest, a perverted form of the mind magics she's permitted to use now."

"How does her power, this ancient magic, work?"

Sephiroth had asked about the ancient magic before, but speaking of them was like gnawing at an old wound for Cloud, and he'd not had the strength before. "The power comes from the Cetra language. When the spells are sung in the ancient tongue they gain power. There are many different forms of ancient magic, mind magic being one of them. She taught be some when we were…bound."

"Your minds were bound, but how? What does a soul bound do?" But Cloud had already been pressed as far as he could go today, and did not answer.

He stood, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. "I am going to…" he didn't really have a clue what he was going to do other then seek some privacy, so he let the sentence trail off. "Excuse me." He forced his head up and back straight as he left the common room, shutting the bedroom door behind him and leaving Sephiroth alone at the breakfast table with their cold meals.

….

After a long shower Cloud was feeling calmer. He'd tucked the past away again, hiding the weakness deep within him where it had dwelt for nearly three years. He pulled on a clean uniform of simple loose black pants and long sleeve ash-grey turtleneck, and strapped his twin swords to his back. Feeling in control of himself again, Cloud emerged from the bedroom, wondering if he'd find the General in the suite at all. The man could walk out any time he chose, but blue orbs quickly spotted the tall figure lounging with an open book. Cloud wondered how that man could make the flimsy Wutai styled chairs look so comfortable.

Sephiroth looked up as he entered, and Cloud forced himself to hold the measuring gaze. He steeled himself for the man's words, convinced they would be mocking or honey sweet as his past was used against him in some way. But Sephiroth said nothing, merely turned back to his reading. Cloud was left standing unsurely for a moment. He'd been so sure Sephiroth would seize the weak-links and attempt to pull Cloud along, to do….what? What use could Sephiroth possibility have for him? He already had his freedom, the man could walk out right now, and Cloud would not stand in his way. The General must be seeking something else then, information? Perhaps he wanted to know the CNO's intentions before returning to Shinra? Or maybe discover more of the ancient magic's power? Or it could be as Vincent said and Sephiroth was simply not eager to return to Shinra; Cloud hoped this last was the case.

When Sephiroth made no move to further any diabolical plans possibly turning about in his head, Cloud felt himself begin to relax slightly. He settled on one of the floor mats across from the man, tucking his legs under him as he wiggled his rear trying to accustom himself to the strange seating. Finally he won the war with the mat and copied Sephiroth by selecting a reasonably interesting book to widdle the hours away with.

He had to cover another yawn as the hours dragged by. He was not fond of reading (especially for long lapses of time) it reminded him too much of his past with Ryquendë, and that was where that thought stopped. He was determined not to think about her until absolutely necessary. He wondered how the Peace Talks were progressing. Not well most likely. He was just about to throw down his book and wander around their small cage, when a knock on the suite door drew both their attention. Cloud turned to blink at Sephiroth, before he rose from the floor and dashed into Vincent's bedroom to retrieve the discarded manacles.

"Here," he knelt before Sephiroth's seated form, but hesitated, casting inquiring eyes up into green. "If you don't mind?" Another pounding at the door accompanied Sephiroth's nod of permission. The General passively held out his wrists for Cloud to bind and the boy deftly clipped them back into place, hating the terrible finality of the sound.

He'd just reached the door when more impatient knocking started. Yanking the door open with more annoyance than usual, Cloud found himself faced with a bouncing SOLDIER. The man seemed to radiate energy, rather like a ticking bomb, he thought ruefully. Even the SOLDIER's hair was too excited to stand still, ebony spikes waving wildly. Intelligent blue eyes met his own frankly, throwing him a moment. He hadn't expected such an excitable person to posses such a piercing gaze.

"Hi! I am Second Class SOLDIER Zack Fair," the man did not hold out his hand, and while the eyes were open they were not overly friendly. Not a surprise since technically Cloud was an enemy and the SODIER showed sense not forgetting it, Peace Talks or no. "I was told I could find General Sephiroth here?"

"He's here," Cloud answered carefully. "Why do you want to see him?"

"Command-um, I mean General Rhapsodos sent me." The SOLDIER scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile stretching his lips.

Cloud turned back to the listening General, "Do you want me to let him in?" Sephiroth gave a silent nod, and when Cloud stepped aside for the SOLDIER he caught the considering light in the bright blue eyes. He supposed it wasn't normal protocol to consult a prisoner on the desirability of guests.

Fair was suddenly nervous as he approached the seated General, eyes lingering on the chains adorning the perfectly composed man's wrists. The SOLDIER snapped a solute, "General Sir, General Rhapsodos sent me with a message, and to check up on your treatment at rebel hands."

Fair dropped the solute looking uncertain again, the coldness radiating from Sephiroth was unmistakable. "Um, sir? Do you want to hear the General's message?" Sephiroth looked about to refuse, before nodding stiffly. "The General, um, General Rhapsodos wishes to assure you he will speak to Rufus, that is the President, he said Rufus so I said, but it's the President, um…" Cloud bit down on a smile, usually such incompetence was not amusing, but the SOLDIER was just so…charming even while he stumbled. "That's all, just that he'd talk to the President, though I don't know what he meant-"

"That will be all, soldier." Sephiroth cut through the babbling. Almost to himself he added, "If that's Genesis's idea of an apology, it's atrocious." But Cloud thought he looked more relaxed then a moment ago.

"Right, yes…sir." Fair rubbed the back of his neck again. Sephiroth seemed to consider the SOLDIER dismissed, but Fair made no move to the door. Instead bright eyes turned to inspect the room. "Nice room you got here, _way_ better then what they gave us, but then we're Shinra so I guess that makes sense."

Fair turned to Cloud again, gaze running over him appraisingly. Cloud shifted, feeling awkward under the frank stare. "Two swords, huh? I've never seen someone wield dual swords before. What kind are they?"

Cloud blinked at the man. Was this Shinra asking to see his weapons? "Katana," he answered slowly.

"Oh, like General Sephiroth."

Cloud frowned, "Like General Elfé."

"The rebel General? That makes sense. Isn't she a girl? Some other SOLDIERs don't believe she is-"

"Elfé is a woman, yes." Cloud cut in, letting his annoyance show.

Fair picked up on the irritation. "Not that I am saying girls can't fight, obviously they can since she's, well, a General and all. I just thought, well, we'd always been told mako doesn't work on women, you know?"

"It doesn't."

"Oh," Fair fell silent again, but it didn't last. "So, how do ya like this place? No monsters, which is tough luck. A mission ain't no fun without monsters. I'm bored out a my mind."

Cloud himself was bored, but he didn't know why Fair was being so…talkative with him. He wasn't Shinra. Maybe the SOLDIER was always like this? He glanced at Sephiroth. The man had returned to his book by all appearances, but Cloud could tell he was listening.

"Yeah, no monsters," Cloud agreed lamely. He wasn't used to interacting with people his own age. Elfé and Shears were at least ten years older than him; most of the other Knights were much older as well. He suddenly felt like a shy mountain boy again, the one no one wanted to talk to, and stumbled over his own words whenever addressed. He hated it. He wasn't that pathetic little kid anymore, and he refused to let this SOLDIER make him feel so unsure. Raising his chin he added, "We could have a practice spar. It's not as good as monsters, but would pass the time. Um…" he stumbled again, feeling stupid, "Except I have to guard the General."

"Really?" Fair didn't sound too sure either and Cloud relaxed some, maybe he wasn't the only nervous one. "Um, well you're not SOLDIER…"

Pride ruffled, he snapped back, "You don't think I'm good enough?"

"I didn't say that, but…well…" it was obvious Fair meant it.

"Don't insult the boy, Fair. Shinra isn't the be-all-end-all of sword masters." Sephiroth's dry voice cut in, his eyes never lifting from his book.

Fair laughed, a touch nervously, "Yeah, guess not. You've got your General right? And she's not bad with a blade I hear."

"She's brilliant, and could take any Shinra SOLDIER any day. She's driven Rhapsodos from the field more than once," pride for his mentor bleed into his voice.

"What!" Fair spluttered, "But Genesis is-"

"It's true, Fair," Sephiroth finally looked up. "You should spend more time analyzing your enemies, else you will never know their weaknesses."

Fair looked properly chastised, but wasn't quite ready to give up. "Well, I bet she couldn't beat Angeal though, he's the best!" Blue eyes met green, sharing the same knowledge of the SOLDIERs mentor's very real weakness, but neither Cloud nor Sephiroth refuted Fair's enthusiastic claim with the truth. "So, how about that spar, huh Spiky? You and me, Shinra vs. rebels-

"CNO," Cloud corrected.

"Right, Shinra vs. CNO, what do you say?" Surprisingly Fair's gaze was friendly and free of the ill will Cloud expected from such an unorthodox challenge. He didn't think 'Shinra vs. CNO' was a good way to clarify a spare between them. When he'd offered, it hadn't been to prove CNO better than Shinra, but it seemed, despite Fair's less then tactful words, the SOLDIER too just wanted a friendly spar.

However, the matter of the General still stood between them. "I have to guard the General."

"We can take Seph-General Sephiroth along!" Fair turned eager eyes towards the man in question.

Sephiroth made no reply, no doubt having the same thoughts as Cloud. "I don't think it's a good idea." Fair still looked stubbornly hopeful, so Cloud elaborated. "The Wutainese are not overly fond of General Sephiroth. I think it best if we stay out of sight."

Fair turned this over for a second, "What if I found us a private place to spar?"

Cloud looked at Sephiroth, but he still gave no indication of what he wanted, so Cloud resorted to asking. "Sephiroth?"

"I would not be averse to leaving this room."

"Alright!" Fair pumped his fist in the air. "I know just the place, found it this morning."

….

It was late by the time Sephiroth and Cloud got back to the room, Vincent had left a short note reminding them of his duty with Ryquendë tonight. Cloud was upset he'd missed him, but didn't regret getting out of the stuffy room. Zack, as the SOLDIER insisted he call him, had been a good challenge, but of course the CNO had taken the day. Cloud grinned to himself as he remembered the shock on Zack's face when he'd lost (the first time), but the SOLDIER didn't hold it against him and told him he was used to losing training with Angeal. Losing to Cloud only served to make Zack more excited; Cloud also thought Sephiroth's lazy corrections had soothed any resentment which could have built. Zack soaked up all of Sephiroth's advice, and appeared to be suffering from intense hero worship. Zack was fascinated by Cloud's dual style of fighting, and when Cloud mentioned his thoughts of moving up to longer or thicker swords, the SOLDIER had waxed poetically about his mentor's famous Buster Sword.

Overall in had been an excellent way to pass the long hours. Cloud surprised himself by liking the young SOLIDER so much. He knew it wouldn't be prudent to form a friendship with a potential enemy, though he supposed he'd done the same with Sephiroth. He'd have to seek Vincent's council on the matter later.

"You fought well today." Sephiroth's voice pulled him up short.

"Thanks," he replied, surprised. Sephiroth merely nodded and moved to the bedroom he'd shared with Vincent last night. Cloud, remembering Vincent's instructions from the day before, spoke up hesitantly. "Vincent said I should…stay with you, in case someone comes during the night."

Sephiroth raised an eye brow. "I don't believe it will be a problem." He gestured to his free wrists.

"Right," he shifted uneasily, still not liking the idea of leaving Sephiroth alone. "Maybe you should take one of my swords, just in case?"

"You would give me your weapon?" Sephiroth asked in surprise.

"I wouldn't feel right, leaving you unarmed."

"I would never give Masamune into another's hands willingly. Your sword should never be wielded by another until you pass it on in death, to do so is an omen of death the Wutainese say. I do not usually believe in ill luck, but in this we agree. If you are so concerned about my health, you may 'guard' me during the night." It had been said with a tint of mockery, but Cloud saw Sephiroth was serious about the offer.

He bit his lip. He didn't want to leave Sephiroth alone, but the thought of sleeping next to him as Vincent had done brought heat to his cheeks. Sephiroth was still looking at him, waiting for an answer, "If you really don't mind." Sephiroth's only reply was to hold the door open for him.

After their nightly rituals were complete, Cloud found himself lying awkwardly beside Sephiroth in the darkness. The sheer fabric of the window's curtains let in a generous spill of white moonlight, and Cloud found himself wishing he'd thought to crack the window open. He felt constrained under the thickly woven bead covers, and could feel the furious pounding of his heart were his hands lay crossed over his chest, tucked between the sheets and his thin T-shirt. He'd slept back to back with other Knights countless times, but he'd never held desire for them. He cursed his teenage body, and Sephiroth himself for being so alluring. He wondered what Sephiroth was thinking about. Cloud feared the man only thought him a child, and after the display this morning he'd probably cemented the idea.

He turned his head to trace Sephiroth's profile in the darkness. The man was undeniably beautiful, but sometimes an expression on his face or the tilt of his head causing light to catch in silver hair, would remind Cloud of Ryquendë. But then Sephiroth would do something entirely unlike her, and the terrible/wonderful resemblance would be shattered. If Sephiroth's only draw had been his outward perfection Cloud didn't think he would be laying here nervous as only a teenager could be beside the one they fancied. Any attraction to good looks would never have withstood the striking similarities of those features to the woman Cloud both worshiped and abhorred. But Cloud wanted to kiss Sephiroth regardless of his silver hair and slit-pupil eyes.

The desire to kiss the man was stronger than ever before, laying here in the dark, when beauty of face is overrated. He wanted to kiss what was left of the man when the lights have gone out.

Cloud's pulse was racing, and he knew he shouldn't act on his desires –knew it in his bones—but that is what teenagers do, they make mistakes. Cloud licked dry lips, and blurted what he'd sworn never to say. "Will you kiss me?" A whisper in the dark, but he knew Sephiroth heard from the sudden stillness of his form, not even breathing for a moment.

"Remind yourself how old you are." Cloud couldn't read anything in Sephiroth's voice, which usually revealed more than the man's face.

"I'm fifteen now."

"No." The answer was final. Sephiroth hadn't even turned to look at him.

"I am not a child."

"Yes you are."

Cloud huffed, "It's just a kiss, just to see if I like it." A lie, but he didn't want Sephiroth to know how much the casual dismissal hurt.

"You would."

"Asshole."

Sephiroth scoffed, "There is nothing wrong with being confident in one's abilities."

"Alright," Cloud allowed, though he still thought it an arrogant thing to say. He turned onto his side, the blankets slipping to his waist as he scooted a little closer. He knew he should stop now, his mind was chanting it in his head, but he could be terribly stubborn.

"Go to sleep, Strife."

Cloud looked down at Sephiroth, hands steadying him, pressing into the soft mattress. The moonlight played in the shadows of Sephiroth's face, highlighting his beautiful bones. "My name's Cloud."

Sephiroth suddenly shifted up, toppling Cloud back into the mattress. "Why do you wish me to kiss you so badly, _Cloud_?"

"You're beautiful." The words hung in the air all wrong. Twisting away from everything Cloud had meant to say but couldn't.

He wanted to tell Sephiroth he thought him beautiful as Masamune was beautiful, forged on the anvil of war and Hojo. Beautiful as death and blizzards are. He wanted to tell him he saw past the ugliness within him –for there was ugliness in Sephiroth too, just as there was in everyone.

He wanted to tell Sephiroth he found the gentle softness in his eyes beautiful too, the secret Sephiroth kept locked beneath the ice. Cloud saw the fragile beauty glimmering in Sephiroth's eyes when he looked at Vincent sometimes. It was delicate as a spring bloom, this innocence that slumbered beneath Death, somehow still holding on in a soul so tainted and bent. All these pieces of Sephiroth were beautiful and Cloud wanted to kiss them all.

Cloud wanted to say all this, but couldn't. He couldn't even tell Sephiroth he liked him, not even something so simple and childish sounding would escape his lips. He was too afraid. He'd never hated Ryquendë more than in this moment, for making him too weak to speak because he was too terrified of the weakness it would reveal. Love was control. And even if this was not love the words of his desire, his silly crush, would still be pieces of himself handed to Sephiroth. He'd given too much already today.

He was suddenly terrified of being frozen forever in the horrible tangle of his own helplessness, and ruined soul. Why couldn't he just trust, just once? But he couldn't. So he said nothing, added nothing to the warped words declaring Sephiroth beautiful, but not in the way he longed to say.

And Sephiroth did take the words wrong. Pinching hands suddenly pinned Cloud's wrists above his head. "Beautiful," the word was obscene on Sephiroth's lips, a curse. "Tell me if I am _beautiful_ now."

Sephiroth's mouth crashed down on Cloud's –a punishment. Lips, tongue, teeth, all filled with anger and loathing. One of Sephiroth's hands wrapped about Cloud's neck, the gesture pure dominance. Panic sliced through Cloud's body and he bucked up against the larger man, trying to free himself, but it was hopeless.

Hot tears slid from his eyes, their salt mixing with the blood drawn from the rough kiss. Cloud forced himself to swallow down the panic; he was not going to hyperventilate now. He forced the tension out of his body, letting his fighting lips and tongue submit to Sephiroth's; even if submission went against everything he'd struggled for since swearing never to allow another to control him again. He submitted to Sephiroth's control in that moment, for even in his fear, sadness also stirred. Sorrow for what that one word had done to Sephiroth. He didn't know what lay behind the pain but he opened himself to Sephiroth, letting him take, and trying to show him what he couldn't say in words: 'You're beautiful.'

Cloud had never kissed another before, and as he tentatively returned Sephiroth's brutal kiss was sure it showed. He drew his one free hand up to tenderly trace Sephiroth's cheek. Abruptly the man ended the kiss and stared down at Cloud, spread out beneath him, lips bused and bloody with his kiss. Cloud could tell he'd confused the man with his acceptance of the punishment, but in the next instant all emotion was locked behind hard unfeeling emeralds.

"I've answered the question." The coldness in Sephiroth's voice sent goose-bumps down Cloud's skin.

"What question?" Cloud didn't think he wanted to know the answer.

"What category of person you are, Strife. You fall into the 'wants to fuck me' category. Does that please you?"

"No," he breathed. _Wrongness_ clung to the man's words like leaches. "I am sorry."

"You're the first." Cloud struggled for something to say, but Sephiroth didn't give him a chance. "Now you got what you wanted you can get _out_." Sephiroth pushed him roughly from the bed on the last word.

Cloud sat where he'd landed on the hard wooden floor for a moment, not knowing what to do. He'd ruined everything with his stupid childish impulses. His fingers touched his swelling lips gently, tongue darting out to lick up the sticky blood, tasting the lingering salty-mintness of Sephiroth. His sigh hung uneasily in the taut air. He crawled back over to the low bed, hand sneaking up to snag his pillow. He wasn't leaving, no matter how much Sephiroth hated him now and how much he himself wanted to escape the mess he'd made. Sephiroth was still in danger, and he'd never forgive himself if something happened to the man because of his own foolishness.

The cool cedar floor was uncomfortable beneath him, but he'd slept on worse. He stared silently at the strange shadows playing on the wall for what felt like hours. He knew Sephiroth was still awake too.

He wanted to say something –needed to fix this—but the only way to do so would be to make himself vulnerable again and he was getting awfully tired of doing that. He had to though, and for more than just Sephiroth. He didn't want to be stuck in this hole forever. He wanted to learn how to trust and love. He wanted to be able to tell Elfé he loved her, and Shears how much his friendship had meant to him over the years.

Vincent had tried to tell him years ago when he'd first joined the Knights, that there was more to being strong then learning how to wield a sword and kill people. He hadn't listened then, so consumed with the idea of strength he couldn't see the greatest strength lay within. He didn't want to be weak inside anymore. If he wanted to get past his self-imposed walls, then he could start by trying right now.

He could hear Sephiroth's too steady breathing on the bed, and with the fortifying shelter of darkness decided to try and say what he couldn't before. "When I said you were beautiful, I didn't mean the way you thought. When I look at you sometimes I see _her_, and I can't...couldn't…if you'd just been that kind of beautiful it wouldn't have been enough. I guess I am trying to say I…like you." He finished rather lamely. Holding his breath, his ears strained to hear Sephiroth's reply, but there was only silence.

Cloud tried not to be too disappointed; he didn't know what he'd expected, for Sephiroth to suddenly decide he liked him back? That was never going to happen. The man obviously thought him a child, and regulated him to some type of 'category' that brought of flush of shame and embarrassment to Cloud's cheeks.

He dozed off soon after his confession, emotionally exhausted. He was roused into a half-wakefulness when strong arms picked up his limp form. He automatically wrapped his hands about the person's neck, pressing his face into their neck. He felt the body carrying him tense, and he mumbled a sleepy inquiry, "Vincent?" But he realized a second later it wasn't the gunman; his father didn't smell like sandalwood and something darker. He didn't have time to ponder it longer as a soft mattress embraced him, and he fell back into dreams.

…

She could smell the reek of sickness clinging to his skin as she approached; the grass parting noiselessly for its mistress's booted feet. She'd been watching him these past few days. How delighted she'd been when she'd seen his presence among Shinra's delegation. She'd felt his eyes watching her back through the tedious peace meetings, and was pleased.

He leaned against a tree, head thrown back, the red strands of his hair threading with the northern moss. He was in pain; it rolled off him turbulent as swells in a stormy sea. "Have your petty scientists failed you, my prince?"

Blue eyes snapped opened, but even as he pushed himself from the gentle embrace of the tree she could see the weariness dogging him. It lingered in the deep shadows under his eyes and the waxy paleness of his skin. The months had not been kind to her future mate, the disease she'd first detected nearly a year ago continuing to slowly eat away at his body. But she was with him now, and soon he would taste life and pleasure again.

"President Ryquendë," he greeted cautiously.

"You may call me Ryquendë," only to her mate did she give this right freely. "So tell me, have the Shinra scientists found a cure?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." So proud, even as death stalked him, it was why she'd chosen him.

"Don't you? I told you to come to me when your body grew weary. Do you refuse my gift, then?"

"What gift do you speak of?"

She glided closer, close enough to see the shadows of trees reflected in his eyes. "Life." Now she had confused him, she must speak plainly. "You are dying Genesis Rhapsodos, have your Shinra scientist told you this? Have they told you they have no cure for degradation?"

His jaw clenched, "How do you-"

"Have they told you?" She pressed.

"Yes. Yes, Hollander told me." He finally admitted.

"Will you receive my gift?"

"_Life_?" He mocked. "Did you not hear? There is _no_ cure."

"None your scientists know, but I will give you life: The gift of the goddess."

He gasped, "_Infinite_ _in mystery is the gift of the goddess. We seek it thus and take to the sky. Ripples form on the water's surface. The wandering soul knows no rest_."

She cocked her head at the poetic words. "Where have you heard those words?"

"Loveless, Act I, do you know it?" Some of the blue-flame that first drew her returned to his eyes.

"It has been many years since I heard the bards sing it in the Halls, but we named it differently." She mused.

"Loveless is a play, not a song," he tried to correct her error. She saw the disappointment in his eyes, and discerned his great love for this piece of prose. His refinement pleased her greatly, and more, that he should hold the work of her people in such high regard.

"_There is no hate, only joy, for you are beloved by the goddess. Hero of the dawn, healer of worlds. Dreams of the marrow hath the shattered soul. Pride is lost. Wings stripped away, the end is nigh_." Wonder was in his eyes as she finished. "It was once a song written by my people the Cetra, or as you now name them, the Ancients."

"I have heard of the Ancients, but have they not all long since died out?"

"I am the last yes, though their blood runs diluted in some humans. Our people have our own secret magic, and it will be this magic with which I heal your body."

He was not easy to trust, another trait she approved of. "Why would you want to heal me? I am Shinra-"

"My price is your loyalty. Tell me, what has Shinra ever done for you?" She kept her voice honey-sweet.

His mind was untouched as yet; he was too be her mate, and as such she wanted him to choose her of his own free will. She would of course hurry the process along considerably, perhaps it was her pride or ego which held her hand, but she wanted to know he had chosen her to some degree.

Genesis's eyes narrowed. "I am General-"

"How long before they steal your rightful title from you and name Sephiroth again in your place? How long did they make you second best, holding you back from your true potential, making you follow at another's heels?"

The burning blue eyes looked away. "As much as I despise it, Sephiroth is the better swords-"

Her hand cut through the air sharply, dislodging the unacceptable words. "Never place yourself below another again." Her voice could crush ice. "If he outmatches you upon the field the fault does not rest with you. How long has your body been slowly falling apart around you? I would not have you match yourself against Sephiroth; he holds the cells of Cetra, the greatest Cetra to ever live. These cells were stolen and he has no right to their power." There was no reason to tell him the cells were in fact hers, and it was her cells killing Genesis even now. It would make the process of cleansing his blood easier since the cells belonged in her body, and would answer her call.

She placed a gentle hand upon his cheek. "You are a great General, and are superior to all these other humans. You belong on a thrown, ruling over them. You belong with me."

"What-" she had moved too swiftly in her excitement. He could not yet comprehend the beauty of her vision.

"In time," she dismissed. "Now, what is your answer to my offer? Will you leave Shinra, who has failed you, and take your place as a CNO General, whole and healed?"

He nodded hesitantly. "Shinra can give me nothing but death, yes I will follow you. _There are no dreams, no honor remains. The arrow has left the bow of the goddess_."

…

Ryquendë led Genesis to her quarters. She would have preferred more privacy for their coming union and Genesis's healing, but was forced to work around the current limitations. Thankfully she had already dismissed her Hands this evening, not needed their watchful eyes until nightfall. The fewer witnesses then better. She closed and locked her door behind them and led Genesis through the airy rooms into the bedroom. The windows were open, a light breeze slipping though and christening the room in jasmine and stirring the white gossamer curtains encircling her bed.

Genesis hesitantly removed his coat and SOLDIER sweater at her instruction, and lay face down upon the bed. His back was rife with tension, and she did not fail to notice he'd left his rapier within easy reach. Ignoring her mate's lingering distrust (she would soon sooth all doubts away, willingly or not) she knelt beside him on the bed.

Ryquendë's fingers hovered over the festering wound cutting through her mate's shoulder blade. "It pains you." He hissed at her light touch. "When did you receive it?"

"A few months ago, during one of the Wutai campaign. It would not heal so I went to Hollander, and it was then he told me –about the degradation." Bitterness and months of pain twisted his words like a knife.

"There may be some pain in the healing, but it will not linger long." She settled her hands upon his muscular shoulders and let her awareness crawl deep under his skin.

Her cells trilled their welcome as they swelled up to meet her, eager to return to their mistress. Genesis cried out in agony, his body jerking and writhing upon the bed, nearly throwing her off. Quickly, she slid her right hand back down to the injured shoulder, body straining to hold the stronger SOLDIER, knees clamping about his waist like steel bars. Her voice strained with the healing song, but her will was iron and her cells leapt at the chance to reunite with her. She coaxed them up through the broken skin of Genesis's shoulder, soaking up the oozing black liquid like a long lost child.

Genesis's spasmed again, hand reaching blindly for his sword as he cursed her, unfortunately not understanding the cleansing fire of his torment. Her mouth pressed into his torn flesh, tongue rapidly lapping up the precious blackness. In her moment of triumphant and reunion Genesis's ravaged body fought back one last time against the churning foreign presence. A scream ripped through her mate's throat as a single ebony wing erupted from his shoulder, knocking the clinging witch backwards.

Ryquendë scrambled to regain her dignity, and examine this unforeseen addition to her mate's form. Genesis lay still now, only moaning brokenly as the last of her cells dripped from the long gash where his flesh joined with the wing. The witch gathered up the remaining cells upon her fingertips and quickly licked them clean. Her silver eyes narrowed calculatingly as she observed the new feathered appendage. She reached out to touch the jet fathers, marveling at their glossy softness.

"Beautiful," she purred. Genesis's glazed eyes were fixed upon his wing, showing only horror. Frowning, she reached into his mind and perceived his dismay and revulsion for the monster he believed himself to have become. She also saw the anger and confusion he now harbored for her. This would not do.

Lightly she brushed his cheek, drawing azure eyes away from the new wing. "It is beautiful, a mark of your supremacy over humans."

Hum, her words seemed to bring him no comfort. It seemed she had much exploring to do; her mate was more complex then she'd at first thought. Perhaps he was not yet anxious to be separated from other humans, but with time he would understand how far below him they were. For now, she needed to calm his distress and anger with what she had caused. "You are healed now, this," her hand lingered upon the wing, "is an unlooked for side-effect of the cleansing, but now you can embrace it as a mark of the second chance you have been gifted. What is this insignificant change compared to the life now flowing untainted through your veins?" His torrent emotions had quieted some, but he was not yet ripe for her taking. "Embrace the gift of the goddess, oh hero of the dawn, for she has given you the sky."

Blue-fire eyes widened as the last vestiges of pain released his body, and he turned the full weight of his mind to her words. She fell back on the poetry he so loved, "_Wings of light spread afar, she guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting_."

His voice was rough, but pure as he returned the hallowed words, "_My friend, your desire is the brining of life, the gift of the goddess_."

Ryquendë stroked her mate's features, wiping away the sweat on his brow and tracing around the glowing eyes. "So beautiful, my prince."

She kissed him: a tender claiming. And he rose to greet her. He wanted her. She smiled into the kiss, letting him take control as she penetrated his mind. She felt the flame of his desire rising, and eagerly manipulated his mind, throwing more kindling upon it until it roared through his blood.

Genesis pulled her too him, trapping her slender form beneath him with inhuman strength. She did not fight him, reveling in the power she held over him and the knowledge of her mate's desire for her. She reached deep into his mind –she could not create love, but she could use the lust and intrigue he already felt for her to implant her will. Her mate had already decided to leave Shinra and follow her; she merely twisted his desire and gratitude into something more.

Her mate taught her something new when he took her body and filled it with his passion. He showed her the pleasures of the flesh, something she had long scorned. She had only known the rough dominance of her first husband. She could still smell his breath, foul and soaked in wine, as he whispered cruelly in her ear, breaking her young body beneath him. But now her mate mapped her body with skilled, worshipful hands, and awakening her own passion. He brought her the stars and she thought she might love him for it –if she was still capable of love, selfish and possessive as it was bound to be.

When he took her the second time, her head thrown back and body aching into the sweet bliss he worked between her legs, she knew his seed had taken to her. She felt the precious spark of life in her secret core, and knew her womb would soon swell with the weight of their son. When they lay at last spent and sated upon the sheets, his mind open to her, she guided him through the ancient marriage rights of her people. No magic held them, only the cravings she had stirred within him, but she knew he would never leave her. Even if the ties of his lust for her waned, he would remain, bound in marriage and by the child now growing within her.

…

Vincent's gentle shaking awoke Cloud. Blue eyes flickered to the paling sky, it was still sometime before dawn. To most people Vincent would have appeared his normal composed self, but Cloud noticed the tiny lies about a grim mouth and the light of worry in crimson eyes. "What's wrong, Vincent?"

"Come, I will speak with Sephiroth as well."

Sephiroth was already waiting for them in the common room. Cloud and Sephiroth had not shared a room since _that_ night. Cloud never had the courage to suggest it again, and Sephiroth had not offered. After Cloud had awoken the next morning to find himself once again on the bed, he'd been fearful of facing Sephiroth in the light of day, but Sephiroth acted as though nothing had transpired between them. Cloud was both relieved and angry with Sephiroth's silence. He'd cut himself open before the man and received nothing but the familiar cool disinterest as if what they'd shared had been nothing. Maybe to Sephiroth it was nothing, but Cloud did not believe that; he'd seen the look in the man's eyes when he'd broken the kiss and it hadn't been _nothing_.

He felt Sephiroth's eyes upon him at times, the weight of their intense searching gaze mutely telling him that Sephiroth had not forgotten no matter what he pretended. But other than the looks, and Cloud's abandonment of joint sleeping arrangements, their relationship was the same as ever. He was no closer to knowing what Sephiroth felt for him, for all he knew the man might think him nothing but a childish pest. He wanted to believe Sephiroth at least considered him a friend, but even this might be too much to hope for with the reserved man.

Vincent motioned for them to sit down and they did, Cloud regulated to the floor mat again. The three sat for a moment of strained silence, two sets of eyes upon Vincent who kept half his face hidden behind his mantel. Whatever the gunman had to share was bothering him. Finally after a moment of contemplation, "Ryquendë has married…Genesis Rhapsodos." Vincent never bantered words.

Sephiroth was on his feet before the words had settled in the air. "I'll kill her." His voice was calm, not a hint of rage to betray what the man was really feeling, but all the more chilling for its calm declaration.

"It is not so simple-"Vincent's steadying words were cut off.

"Genesis would never leave Shinra, not after just becoming General, he would not leave Angeal." Old bitterness lingered on the words, and Cloud noticed the conspicuous absence of Sephiroth's own name alongside Angeal's. "The witch must have used her magic on him. Why has she not been punished?"

Jewel eyes flickered away, "She has not broken any of her oaths. She is permitted use of her mind magics as long as they are not dark, such as a soul bond, the reason she was punished for using magic against you was because she had made a separate oath not to touch you." Vincent answered quietly.

"Why would she do that?"

"Because it was my price for adding her in the war," Vincent's voice revealed nothing.

"But you did not know I was your son then." Confusion nestled between silver brows.

"No, I did not."

Sephiroth's lips parted, but he seemed robbed of speech. It only lasted a moment before the man visibly drew himself back to the matter at hand. "If she cannot be forced to release Genesis, then I will simply kill her."

"I do not doubt she has used mind magic against him," Vincent agreed quietly. "However, there must be a base from which to work, and for Genesis to agree to_ marry_ her…he could not have been entirely disagreeable to the idea-"

"It does not change the fact the witch is controlling him. I do not know what lies she whispered in his ear; I would put nothing past her."

"If it were only lies she would not be able to hold him under her will," Vincent reasoned again. "Apparently they have been married for over two weeks now in secret. Ryquendë no doubt wants an upper hand with the negotiations and waited for the opportune moment to reveal the change of Genesis's loyalties." He paused for a moment, "When I asked Genesis how his relationship with Ryquendë started, intending to discern the depth of it, he told me she'd saved his life." Red eyes searched jade, "Genesis was dying from something called degradation. The Shinra scientists had been unable to find a cure and given him only months to live."

Sephiroth's face openly showed his shock. Cloud had rarely seen the man so expressive. "Why wouldn't he…"

"Ryquendë healed him of the disease; Cetra healing magic is very powerful. I am unsure of the exact nature of the sickness, but it seems his cells were dying off too rapidly for his body to replenish. Furthermore, he suffered from a mutation…he has a wing on his right shoulder." Sephiroth's eyes were glued to the floor, jaw clenched. Cloud wanted to reach out for him, but didn't think the proud man would appreciate the gesture. "It is natural Genesis would feel grateful for Ryquendë's help, and she most likely played upon those feelings. Either way, such a strong bond will not be easy to break. From what I observed of them together, she actually seemed…fond of him."

Cloud blinked. Ryquendë was fond of someone? That was a first. Sephiroth's determined voice cut through the room. "I will kill her. Her life belongs to me after what she did to me, and now to Genesis. I do not care if she did save his life, it does not give her the right to control him."

Vincent was silent another moment before his soft voice brought all thought to a halt, "She's carrying his child."

"She's lying." Sephiroth dismissed.

"That is always a possibility, though she is not the sort of woman to hide behind a child. It would be a simple enough matter to disprove in a short time…I am inclined to believe she speaks the truth. While the idea of leaving your friend under her control must be distasteful, Sephiroth, you must consider if he would not rather remain with part of his freedom forfeit then have freedom at the sacrifice of his child's life."

Sephiroth did not speak for many long moments, only staring stonily at the wall, before the quiet sigh of his voice reached their ears. "What should I do?" Cloud had never heard the man so unsure, nor ask for another's advice.

Vincent leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze telling Cloud he too understood the importance of this gesture. His son was trusted him enough to share his uncertainty with him. "Talk to him. Sow the seeds of doubt within his mind. For all her power, her magic cannot overcome hate."

Sephiroth nodded slowly, "I need to see him."

"Give me a moment," Vincent slipped from the room as quietly as a shadow, not delaying a moment to fulfill his son's first request of him.

It only took a few mute minutes before Vincent's return. "He will not see you before the evening. Rufus called off the negotiations for the day, no doubt concerned by Shinra's weakened position."

Sephiroth's eyes flashed at the delay, "He will not see me now?"

"They wish to spend the day…together." Sephiroth's lip curled at the insinuation, chaffing at every moment the witch had her claws in Genesis. "Do not," Vincent cautioned, reading the violent intent in Sephiroth's eyes. "He will be more open to reason if you come to him on his terms. He is a proud man."

"That is a polite way of putting what Genesis is." Some of the tight lines in the man's body loosened though, as he saw the reason in Vincent's words.

"Let us enjoy a day free of tedious power struggles then." Vincent's mischievous eyes further worked to ease the harsh atmosphere, "Breakfast?"

Their talk had just turned to how they would occupy Vincent's free day, when Zack's distinctive knock interrupted their meal. Zack had become a constant companion in their long week of boredom. The young SOLDIER never failed to drag Cloud and Sephiroth away for a stress-relieving spar every afternoon. Sephiroth never trained with them, Cloud was too terrified of them being discovered with Sephiroth's hands about a sword. He knew Sephiroth was becoming increasingly impatient of his wary nature; the man longed to wrap his hands about a blade again, and Cloud certainly didn't blame him, but unlike Zack he believed in caution, especially given the turbulent nature of the Peace Talks.

Cloud answered the door with a little frown, Zack was hours early. The SOLDIER bounded in, almost pushing Cloud over in his hast. "You will _never_ believe what's happened, Spiky!" Zack threw himself onto one of the flimsy chairs, producing an ominous cracking sound.

"Hey General!" Zack greeted the cold man enthusiastically. Over the weeks Zack had lost his starry-eyed awe of his General. The SOLDIER still held the highest respect for Sephiroth, but his naturally relaxed manner caused him to treat Sephiroth more as a friend then a stiff commanding officer.

Zack only now noticed the fourth member of the room. As his bright eyes trailed over Vincent, the wide smile of his face faltered, but Cloud knew Zack's confidence would right back up…any…minute…there, "Hey! I am Zack. Zack Fair SOLDIER Extraordinar! Why didn't you guys tell me you had another roommate! That's awesome, maybe we could team up today. You really need to loosen up, Spiky, nobody's gonna find our super secret training room. Well except maybe the Turks, but they know everything, ya know? "

Vincent blinked.

"That's Vincent," Cloud decided to rescue the gunman. "Vincent Valentine," Zack's eyes showed no recognition. "Hands Director," still nothing, "They're kind of like Shinra's Turks."

"Wow really? I didn't know you rebels had Turks, that's kind of scary actually. I mean don't the Turks do assignations and stuff? So have you ever assassinated anyone?" He asked Vincent wide-eyed. Cloud bit his lip at the incredulous expression on Sephiroth's face. Zack's ignorance of both Shinra and CNO politics astounded the General at times.

"Yes," Vincent finally replied, after assuring himself the young SOLDIER was in fact asking him this.

"Zack," Cloud cut off the conversation, seeing Vincent's discomfort. He knew Vincent was prone to remorse over his kills (the job was one of the few things the ex-Turk did not spend time regretting), but it wasn't something to talk about either. "You're here pretty early. I didn't even know you got up before noon."

"Cloud!" Zack smacked his arm, before his previous excitement caught up with him again. "I swear you'll never guess what's happened!"

"Why don't you tell us then?"

"You're no fun Spiky. Genes-General Rhapsodos deserted and got married to _your _President! Can you believe that? Man you should have seen Rufu-shit, I mean the President's face! He was so pissed!"

Sephiroth stood abruptly. "I believe, since Fair has decided to grace us with his presence so early, we should have a morning spar." Chilling green eyes dared Cloud to protest. Cloud glanced at Vincent, but the pale face showed no hint to the thoughts beneath it.

"But what about-" Zack began.

"Right," Cloud quickly agreed. "Let me get my swords."

Zack was clever enough to pick up on the heavy tension as the trio walked to their customary training room, and didn't bring up Genesis's sudden marriage again. Vincent had chosen to stay behind, and Cloud found himself wishing desperately for his father's calming presence as he watched Sephiroth's ridged back. He hoped Sephiroth wouldn't press him to spar again, as much as the man might want to let off some steam, Cloud couldn't think of a worse day to do so. With the negotiations canceled for the day the halls were full of more bustling people than usual. Sephiroth had received several murderous stares from passing Wutainese and many curious ones from Shinra attendees. Luckily none had tried to stop them, though one Wutainese man had spit at them.

It was as Cloud feared, the moment they reached their 'secret' room, Sephiroth strode purposefully over to the extra weapons that had accumulated in the room over the weeks. He picked out the katana Zack had been messing with a few days ago; the sword was nothing to Masamune, but with the look in Sephiroth eyes it would hardly matter. Intent burning in emerald eyes, he held out manacled wrists to Cloud, "Release me."

"I don't know," Cloud shot a glance at the closed door, but his lingering eyes snapped back around when Zack let out a startled cry. Sephiroth had deftly snatched the materia equipped sword off the Second's back and was already popping out a fire materia.

"No don't! You'll hurt yourself!" Cloud rushed over since Sephiroth showed no signs of stopping. "Here, here damn it." He pulled the key's chain from under his sweater, cursing the General's stubbornness.

When the handcuffs lay abandon on the floor, Cloud found himself looking into pitiless jade eyes down the length of the katana. "Give me a fight, soldier." Cloud swallowed. The man was gorgeous, he'd never seen Sephiroth geared up for battle and knew it was a sight never forgotten.

It was, not surprisingly, a rather short spar. Sephiroth was in no mood to play. He moved like Death, honed and precise as a well oiled sword. When you first learn the sword, they tell you to make your sword an extension of your arm, but when Sephiroth moved it was like his whole body was the sword. He was magnificent and terrifying. As Cloud looked up into icy glowing eyes, he found his own thoughts stumbling more than once over the man's intentions. It almost seemed like Sephiroth _wanted_ to kill him, so fiercely did he battle.

All too soon Cloud was laid out flat on his back with merciless steel pressed against his throat. Sephiroth stared down at him for a moment, eyes as hard as gemstone, before the blade was withdraw and Cloud was allowed to rise.

"Never try to control me like that again." Sephiroth's voice slid under Cloud's skin like melted steel, causing him to shrink back instinctively from the hell-fire eyes. He only managed a tight nod in agreement.

"Wow," Zack's voice cut through the silence. Cloud didn't think he'd ever been more grateful for Zack's talkative nature. The man had a real talent for diffusing tense situations if he put a mind to it.

"Yeah," Cloud agreed softly, eyes never leaving Sephiroth's form as the man replaced the katana with controlled, economical movements. You wouldn't guess at all the passion lying just under the perfect skin by watching the man.

"You up for another spar, Spiky?"

"Um," Cloud was still watching Sephiroth as the man strode purposefully toward the door. "Sephiroth, what about…" the man didn't turn as Cloud gestured pointlessly at the discarded restraints. He'd taken the General's warning to heart, but the man wasn't going to walk around unescorted was he?

"Take a round with Fair, Strife. I require some privacy." The door snapped shut behind the General.

What was the General thinking? Oh right, he wasn't. Cloud had never known the man to be so carless. He could well imagine the mess this would cause, but he wasn't going to chase after the General. The man had asked for privacy, so he'd grant it; it wasn't like Sephiroth couldn't just walk back to Shinra whenever he wanted.

"Are you sure the General's a prisoner?" Zack joked lightly, pulling him out of his worried thoughts.

"It's a bit complicated," he deadpanned.

Zack grinned, "I'll say. So, how bout it, Spiky?" Zack pulled out his broadsword, and Cloud obliged. Neither one of their hearts or heads were in it though, and after the first round they called it a day.

"Need any help roundin up the escaped prisoner?" Zack asked.

"No thanks. Do you think…I should give him more time?" Cloud asked tentatively.

"I suppose he'll tell you to get lost if he wants."

"Yeah, thanks Zack," Cloud gave the other boy a small smile.

"No problem, we're friends right?" Cloud stared at the smiling SOLDIER. Friends? They were on other sides of a war. If the Peace Talks fell through they might very well next meet in battle, and yet…

"Yeah, friends," Zack punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"That's what I thought, Spiky." With another grin the SOLDIER bounded off, as full of energy as usual, and Cloud found himself watching him disappear with a fond smile.

…

When Cloud finally located Sephiroth he wished he hadn't. He'd been getting increasingly anxious as corridor after corridor turned up empty of the elusive General, and begun to wonder if he should just trust the man and wait for him with Vincent in their room. Then a woman's voice crying out 'General' brought him up short. If he'd stopped to think about it, he would have realized the cry had not been in fear, but adrenalin started pounding in his ears as he began to imagine all the terrible scenes awaiting him behind the half-open door.

He hurried in, hand already reaching for a sword hilt, only to pull up short at the sight of Sephiroth fucking a woman up against the wall. She could have only been Shinra, probably some nameless secretary all too eager to attract the famous General's attentions. They hadn't even bothered to remove their clothing. The woman's short skirt was hiked up about her waist, and Sephiroth still had his coat on, just unzipping his fly. It was a fuck, and suddenly Cloud knew exactly what Sephiroth had meant when he'd put Cloud in the 'wants to fuck me' category. But he hadn't, didn't want…

He felt sick as he listened to the woman's exaggerated moaning and calls of 'General, oh General fuck me harder.' She began screaming as Sephiroth sped up, pounding into her as her wet juices coated his cock. But what captured Cloud's gaze was the utter blankness of Sephiroth's face. Eyes like chipped ice, mouth clamped tight over any possible sounds; maybe Sephiroth thought the woman was screaming enough for the both of them. Only the slight dilation of his eyes and the flare of his nostrils indicated he was engaged in anything more stimulating then paper work.

A fuck. Yes, a meaningless release of stress. Cloud found it revolting. How could Sephiroth give such an intimate part of himself so willingly to a person he probably didn't even know the name of? The idea terrified Cloud, he'd never give a stranger such power over him. But then he looked into Sephiroth's cold eyes and realized there was no trust here, Sephiroth had given the woman nothing but his cock.

Somehow this knowledge didn't make it any better. Cloud had lived among soldiers for most of his life, and was no stranger to sex, at least in theory. He'd listened to the other men talk about their whores, their male lovers, and even their wives, but had never actually_ seen_ what it meant to fuck. What it meant to buy a whore; the utter impersonalize of the act had not transferred over to men's tales told around a camp fire.

Suddenly the cold green eyes turned to meet his wide ones as Sephiroth finally sensed his presence. The man faulted mid-thrust, something flittering over his face too fast for Cloud to discern. Anguish? Regret? Shame? He hoped his own eyes had not reflected his distaste.

The woman let out another round of 'Oh General, yes, yes, fuck me!' Sephiroth was still looking at Cloud as he obliged the woman. Cloud felt heat spread on his cheeks, and nerves –or maybe something else—stir in his belly when Sephiroth did not. look. away.

Cloud's eyes slid down again to the place their bodies connected, mesmerized as Sephiroth's cock slid in and out, in and out. He stumbled back a step, blue eyes huge, lips parted. He didn't like this anymore, he shouldn't have watched. It was wrong he knew, but he just…didn't know now. He couldn't think with Sephiroth still staring at him like that. The man was defiantly going faster now, pupils blown, his mouth had opened slightly and Cloud could see the pink of his tongue, the white of his teeth. He remembered the feel of those lips on his, and knew the strangeness in his stomach was not nerves, not nerves at all. A strangled moan slipped off his tongue as he took a few more hasty steps back, trying to tear his eyes away from Sephiroth's, but not succeeding. Cloud licked dry lips and Sephiroth's eyes trailed the motion just before he came deep inside the panting woman. And finally the spell was broken and Cloud was able to wrench his gaze away and scramble madly for the door.

Cloud leaned his head back against the corridor wall, the woman's voice had started up again on the other side, though now she was babbling on about how 'amazing' the General had been, and trying to give him her PHS number. Cloud took several long calming breaths. He didn't know what that had just been, but the way Sephiroth was looking at him…he couldn't just think of Cloud as a child. He'd been fucking the woman and_ looking_ at Cloud.

The woman came trotting through the door first, rearranging her hair as she went. She didn't notice Cloud for which he was thankful, and a minute later Sephiroth strode calmly from the room, as immaculate as ever. Green eyes met his as cool and indifferent as ever, and Cloud felt his heart sink. So, Sephiroth was going to pretend nothing had happened, _again_. Doubt began to gnaw, maybe Cloud had just imagined the whole thing, maybe the intensity of Sephiroth's eyes had only been anger for being disturbed?

Gold lashes hid his confused eyes as he studied Sephiroth's boots. He felt uncertain and childish, weak, in the face of Sephiroth's dismissal. And then he felt angry; furious with himself and Sephiroth for doing this too him. He'd sworn. Sworn never ever to let something have this kind of control over him, but here he stood, pathetically needy. He would not let Sephiroth manipulate him like this. He'd given the man a part of him, told him he liked him; it didn't matter how foolish the confession had sounded, he'd still said it. Sephiroth had heard it, and Cloud had let the man dangle him along for the last few weeks, but it was done now. He would_ not_ be controlled.

Hatful blue eyes snapped up to meet emerald, and Cloud was secretly pleased to see the glimmer of surprise and confusion in their depths. He wanted the man to know he was done playing his games.

"I hope you feel better now," Cloud didn't let any of his raging emotions bleed through his voice. He offered Sephiroth the same vague smile he'd once been so accustomed to hiding behind.

"I...Cloud…" Sephiroth actually stumbled over his words, and Cloud nearly gave in, nearly surrendered to that confused almost-hurt look, but he would not. He was no one's plaything.

"I am sure everyone will know by tomorrow that you were walking around without an escort –free. Are you going to go back to Shinra now?"

Whatever fleeting emotions Sephiroth had felt were locked away again now. "Let the spoiled little prince squirm. If Rufus wants to know the nature of my imprisonment, then he can ask me himself. As for the Wutainese," he smiled, sharp as Masamune's blade. "They know I will not hesitate to kill them, in fact, I look forward to their protests."

Cloud shivered at the feverish light in green eyes; yes the man would enjoy it. The leather coat snapped around Sephiroth as he turned to stalk down the hall, tossing over his shoulder, "I want Masamune back. Tell Vincent to return it before tomorrow." The 'or else' went unsaid.

….

Sephiroth had his sword back within the hour. Vincent said nothing when the request was made, merely turned and left the room coming back a few minutes later with the massive blade. Sephiroth's finger's ran lightly over the polished steel, but found none of the comfort it usually gave him.

His eyes strayed to the empty chair across from him. The remainder of the day had been spent in uncomfortable politeness; every word carefully weighed and stripped of any emotion. Sephiroth had not expected to find himself missing the boy's soft voice and shy smiles. He'd grown used to Cloud's attention, not even realized how finely the boy had woven himself into his life until Cloud had suddenly ripped himself out. Cloud had spent the day with Vincent and Sephiroth in body, but to Sephiroth he might as well have been in Midgar for how distant the boy had been.

Now Cloud had finally left in person, leaving Sephiroth with Vincent's watching presence. It would have been impossible for the ex-Turk not to notice the abrupt change in their relationship. Sephiroth hadn't meant for it happen; he'd tried to keep the boy at a distance every since he'd kissed the child in a fit of anger. But the child's soft confession in the night lingered in his ears, filling his thoughts more then he'd like to admit. The boy would get over whatever attraction he held for Sephiroth soon enough, but Sephiroth couldn't quite bring himself to forget.

If it had been base physical attraction it would never have moved him, he'd received that countless times. He was no stranger to worship. There always seemed to be someone ready to confess how much they 'loved' him even when they knew nothing about him; he despised such declarations the most. It was the sincerity of Cloud's admission which set it apart from so many others. The boy was not a stranger who'd fallen in awe with him. He'd spent months with Cloud, and while he didn't consider the boy a friend, it was uncomfortably close. The boy was not entirely ignorant of his flaws, he'd seen past the mask of perfection more than once, and knew things about him not even Angeal and Genesis knew. The boy had not glimpsed the true ugliness lying beneath Sephiroth's skin, but he should have seen enough to extinguish the 'liking' he claimed to have.

Sephiroth closed his eyes, trying to banish the memory of wide blue eyes and perfect kissable lips from his mind. He'd not meant for it to happen. He'd not let himself think about the _child_ sexually since that night, but when he'd seen the boy watching him it'd been impossible not to. The boy was beautiful. Delicate rainwater soft skin, hair like spun gold, and his eyes, Sephiroth could not look away from those eyes. Luminous glowing sapphires making him want to spread the boy beneath him and watch his eyes as he fucked him.

It was wrong. He had committed many sins in his life, but if he took the child now it would be the worst. He did not fuck children. But he had: with his eyes he'd imagined fucking the boy as he'd been buried inside that slut. He'd wanted, needed, a _child_. He'd tried to tell the boy to run, run far away from Sephiroth's unloosed desires, but the warning had never come. He'd wanted the boy to_ stay_ far too much.

He'd composed himself and shoved down all the corrupt thoughts before joining Cloud in the hallway again. He'd put back on the armor of icy untouchable General, and he'd hurt the boy. It was written in those expressive eyes, and then there had been nothing but hate. He could embrace the hate, it was better than the alternative of such unforgivable sin.

But he still could not banish the memory of bloody lips, tear-stained cheeks, and _acceptance_ in blue eyes. He told himself it had been a trick of the moonlight; the boy could never have looked at_ him_ in that way, as if he'd seen right into his soul and embraced it. It was impossible, and yet he couldn't stop his foolish longing for what could never be, would never be now he'd taken the boy's fragile affection and crushed it. It was better the child learn now exactly what kind of monster he 'liked.'

If only…if only he'd never set eyes on the witch, never learned exactly how much he craved for such an impossible, hopeless look. As if a child could ever accept him or ever hope to comprehend the full blackness of his soul. The child might have some maturity for his years and even some small similarity with Sephiroth's own life, but the boy could never really understand what Sephiroth had endured or what he'd been forced to become. No-one could.

Vincent was looking at him again, those searching rubies trying to take him apart. The man could be uncomfortably perceptive. "Something is troubling you." Sephiroth did not look up from the book he'd been pretending to read. "What happened with Cloud?"

Sephiroth finally met his father's gaze, not that he had any intention of telling the man he'd been entertaining thoughts of fucking his adopted son while the boy had watched him fuck a woman against the wall. He wouldn't be surprised if Vincent tried to kill him.

Ever since Sephiroth had told the gunman he didn't blame him for leaving him in Hojo's tender care, the man had been different. It was little things, the way he touched Cloud more, the open way he claimed Sephiroth as his son, even the man's unrelenting eyes constantly watching him when they were together. But it was mostly a comfortable watching, as if Vincent was telling him without words that he was there for him. It could also be unnerving though. Sephiroth was not used to such looks, and while he accepted the man as his father, he was not about to spill all his deep dark secrets, or any secrets. The man wanted something, everyone did, but now Vincent had gotten forgiveness he seemed to want a…relationship? Certainly not the typical father/son relationship, but he wanted to be part of Sephiroth's life; it was scrawled in those jeweled eyes as he watched him.

Sephiroth had not answered the gunman, and he didn't know what Vincent read on his face but it seemed to confirm his suspicions. "I'd almost given up hope of Cloud ever looking at someone the way he looks at you." Sephiroth's lips parted in surprise. "Yes, I know. I saw the way his eyes follow you, and how open he's become in your presence. There are only a handful of people in this world who Cloud trust's enough to let them see him so vulnerable. I did not believe he'd ever heal enough to pursue a romantic attraction when friendship is hard enough."

Vincent's eyes sharpened on Sephiroth. "There is only one thing which would make him cut himself off so abruptly as he has now done. He must have believed you were trying to control him in some way. Cloud is terrified of being manipulated, of anyone holding power over him, and after what the witch did to him it is hardly a surprise."

Sephiroth refused to look away, holding the heavy gaze even as his mind spun back over the fateful scene this morning. He supposed his actions could have been perceived as playing with the boy. He'd not meant to reveal his desire for the boy and had only been trying to control his unacceptable lusts, but yes, he could understand how Cloud would think he'd been stringing him along, teasing him, before casting him away.

Vincent's words brought up another thing he'd been anxious to know ever since he'd met the child. "What did she do to him? Cloud said she'd used a 'soul bond,' but what is that?"

"Cloud told you about the bond?" Sephiroth could hear Vincent's surprise. "He hasn't even told Elfé about what the witch did to him. No one knows but those who witnessed it…and now you." Sephiroth didn't know what to feel about this, he'd never imagined Cloud's trust had extended so far.

"I will tell you, but if you ever speak of this to another or seek to use it against Cloud in anyway, there will be no forgiveness. I would never come in violence against you nor wish you pain, but Cloud is as much my son as you are. I do not know if he could survive such a betrayal."

Vincent's mouth was grim, and Sephiroth could only offer a solemn nod. What lay in Cloud's past that could be this terrible?

The gunman was silent a moment longer, finally, "Cloud was bond in a soul bond to the witch for four years. He was very young when she took him, only just eight years. It was slavery in its most primitive form, an enslavement of the body, mind, and soul. She possessed him, used him as her vessel since she had no body of her own then. Cloud had no will, no secrets from her; she'd even taken his right to hate her. She was everything to him and he worshiped her."

"When I first met him he was still her thrall. Groveling at her feet, begging to…" Vincent's voice broke. Sephiroth was too horrified to speak. "I've never seen anyone...it was revolting, perverse, what she did to him. No-one, no-one not even Hojo, deserves such a life." Vincent paused again, eyes heavy as boulders. "I'm still amazed everyday by his trust in me, his strength. But he is far from infallible which is why I am telling you this. For all his strength he is still a terrified child when faced with another's control. He will hate you if he thinks you seek to manipulate him in any way."

"Perhaps it is too late," Sephiroth eventually murmured after the weight of Vincent's words had settled. He could not even imagine….such a life. He'd been used all his life, yes, but this? To not even have his own mind for refuge… He'd experienced just a small taste of it when the witch had violated his mind. He couldn't imagine _four years_.

"No, he pretends well, but he'd not as cold as he would have you believe. Whatever you did, it was not unforgivable."

"Why would you even want…he's fifteen…?" Sephiroth voiced his own revolution.

"He won't always be fifteen," Vincent answered calmly. "And even if this passes, I will always wish to see my sons friends if you can never be brothers or lovers."

Sephiroth nodded mutely. He wondered if it might be better to hold Cloud at a distance and nurture the belief in Sephiroth's manipulations, but he couldn't now, not after everything Vincent had told him. He didn't know what he truly thought of the boy, but he did respect him, and couldn't reward Cloud's past trust in him with willful deceit.

"I believe you wanted to pay your friend Genesis a visit?" Vincent turned the conversation around.

"Yes," Sephiroth flashed his teeth.

…

Vincent barely gave the witch the courtesy of knocking when they reached her door before swinging it open. They found the couple sprawled out on a diva, Genesis's head resting in Ryquendë's lap. Sephiroth swallowed down his disgust as she ran her long-nailed fingers through Genesis's hair. Were they debating Loveless? How typical.

Ryquendë gave them a sly smile as they entered, and Sephiroth wanted to sink his fist into her perfect face. "Gentlemen," her oily voice greeted.

Genesis's red head popped up, "Sephiroth? Have you come to meet my bride?" Azure eyes skimmed over Vincent's silent form. "Ah, and you brought your _father_, you never did tell me how that happened."

"You could always ask your _wife,_ she had a front row seat for the whole affair."

Genesis sprang up, "Leaver her out of this."

Sephiroth felt the gentle pressure of Vincent's hand against his wrist, and forced himself to take a calming breath. He had to remember this wasn't Genesis's fault. The man could be an arrogant ass, but he was still one of Sephiroth's only and oldest friends. They had known each other since they were teens in Wutai together.

"May we speak privately, Genesis?"

"Nothing you-"

Ryquendë cut off her mate's offended words, "Valentine and I have some matters to discuss before the Talks resume tomorrow." She lent in to steal a kiss from Genesis before sweeping out of the room, but not before flashing Sephiroth a smug look. She obviously thought she had nothing to fear.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Sephiroth turned back to Genesis, noting the superior tilt of his chin; he'd never seen Genesis look at him like that before. It wasn't him. Genesis could be conceited yes, but not like this. Sephiroth walked closer, boots pressing into the rush rugs spread over the wooden floor, trying to maintain control without resorting to the icy impenetrable mask Genesis so hated.

"Genesis, that woman, she's using you. She has you under her magic. I've seen it before; I've_ felt_ it before. She tried to use it on me. She's not who you think she is-"

"You're mistaken. Ryquendë is one of the Ancients, she's a good person. Her magic saved my life when Hollander and all the others were ready to let me rot to death."

"Why didn't you tell me? What about Angeal, did you tell him?" Sephiroth kept his voice steady even as the betrayal ate at him again. How could Genesis not have trusted them? The man most certainly wouldn't have lain down and died, he had to have been planning something before Ryquendë, but hadn't told them. Sephiroth was sure it would have been hatful and bloody, a bitter revenge, but he would have…didn't Genesis know Angeal and he would have stood beside him to whatever end?

"What could you have done about it?" Genesis snarled. "No one could help me, there was _no cure_. But my wife, the very one you're so anxious for me to distrust, healed me." Genesis's body was shaking in fury. "Do you have any idea what it felt like to know you were going to die? Not in battle like a hero, but slowly, painfully, and it was painful Sephiroth. Goddess knows what I would have become in the end, _look at me_!" A huge black wing erupted from Genesis's back. Sephiroth's lips parted, Vincent had said, but… "I thought I was a monster, maybe I am, but Ryquendë, she's…she understands, everything, she understands."

"But Genesis she's controlling you-" Sephiroth tried to reason, but his heart already knew it was hopeless.

"_My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment to find the end of the journey, in my own salvation and your eternal slumber._" Genesis quoted, ignoring Sephiroth's pleading.

"How can you not care? She's taken your freewill-"

"Enough! I will not hear another word against my wife!" Genesis's eyes blazed in warning.

"And that's the problem: you're _wife_. You barely know her and suddenly you're married, cannot you see-"

"She was right about you," Genesis snarled. "Everything always has to be about you, perfect General Sephiroth. I finally have something for myself and you come here trying to tear it away! You're jealous of my happiness. Rufus was just waiting for you to come back before he stole my title away from me. They would have made you General again within the week! You're glory should have been mine, and now I have something the perfect General doesn't and you come here to steal it from me as well!"

"I have no desire to marry that witch, that_ bitch_-" Genesis's fist caught him in the jaw, snapping his head around.

Silence.

Sephiroth's fingers came away bloody from where they'd traced his cut lip. He looked at the dark red blood coolly. The man he had once called friend was not in this room. Genesis was consumed with petty grudges, and there again was the superior look in blue eyes. Genesis did not offer an apology for striking him, and he was not going to offer one for calling Genesis's _wife_ what she was.

He wondered if he'd ever really known Genesis; he knew the man had not truly known him so maybe there was much about the man he'd simply turned a blind eye too, desperate to find friendship where none had been. Genesis had never seen past his mask of icy perfection, never cared to look at the man beneath it.

He remembered how uncertain he'd been when he'd first met Genesis and Angeal. He'd been fifteen, both of them two years older, but they pursued a friendship with him, the Demon of Wutai, and wouldn't relent until he had accepted them. He'd been so confused by their friendship, but hidden it, hidden everything behind his mask as he'd learned to do as a child in the labs. But he'd thought they'd been friends, at least once; maybe before Genesis's arrogance began splitting the seams, and his own insecurities kept them at arm's length. He'd been so scared, was still scared, they'd look at him and name him monster. Angeal would, he knew it. He'd never be able to bare himself before the honor bound SOLDIER. So he hadn't, had pretended to be the icy General everyone knew so well, only cracking the mask a little for the two Firsts. Maybe if he had...but it was too late for regrets now, far too late.

"You self-righteous _bastard_, don't you ever speak about the mother of my child like that again." Genesis's voice whipped out, promising death, shredding any hope of reconciliation Sephiroth still harbored. It was over. "Get. Out." And he did.


	9. Turk Emissary

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 9: Turk Emissary

Cloud bolted the shop door behind him. Rendell, the blacksmith, was already headed home, but Cloud had wanted to finish the knife sketch he'd been working on. He was running late, the sun's last rays were fleeing Cosmo Canyon's cliff walls, but when inspiration struck he had a tendency to lose himself in the work.

He'd started designing blades as a hobby, just something to pass the time now the war was over, but it became a fulltime occupation since. Shears said he was a natural, and kept trying to get him to expand to designing guns as well, but Cloud wanted to be able to forge the swords and knifes he designed first. The blacksmith had taken him on as an apprentice six months ago, just after he'd finished designing his first blade, the one he now worn on his back.

He'd been tinkering with sword types for weeks before finally deciding to attempt a custom sword for himself. He'd outgrown the twin katana swords he wielded, and now their length and lightness held him back. At first he'd only wanted longer katana blades, but he kept remembering the solid weight of Zack's broadsword in his hands, and eventually settled on two swords just shy of a broadswords hefty weight. They were each as long as Elfé's blade, their thickness rivaling a broadsword, but that was before he clipped them together. He called it Fusion, and had no idea where the idea for the sword came from, only knowing it was perfect for him.

Fighting with a single blade hadn't been his style in years, but when he held the two joined pieces of his sword in his hands it felt completely natural. He'd spent a lot of time training, tying to get used to the new reach and heft of the two swords, and while he normally fought with them separated, he did like the bang he could bring with the Fusion sword joined. The weight couldn't rival Zack's mentor's Buster Sword, but when joined the blade was thicker than his spread hand. Elfé hated the new sword, saying it was bulky and lacked the elegance of the katana, but Cloud knew he was meant to wield it, and even Elfé couldn't deny how much he'd improved in their spars.

Cloud picked up his pace; Elfé and Shears wouldn't care if he came in late, but he hated keeping them waiting. He had dinner with the couple at least three times a week, but even seeing them so often still left him alone far too much. He hated the silence of his empty apartment, but when he saw Elfé and Shears together it made all the lonely hours worth it.

Three weeks after the Peace Talk's conclusion and the war's official ending, Cloud moved back to the Canyon with Elfé, Shears, and a number of other old AVALANCHE members. It had been another six weeks before Shears finally approach Elfé.

Cloud didn't know why it'd taken the man so long when he'd obviously had it bad for Elfé for years. Maybe Shears had been waiting for some sign from Elfé acknowledging his less then subtle affections; either way Shears had grown tired of waiting and bluntly told the oblivious swordswoman how he felt. Elfé would've never noticed if Shears hadn't come out and told her, but after he'd made what was obvious to everyone else known to Elfé, she hadn't taken too long to take him up on the offer.

That was over seven months ago. Cloud sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. It was wonderful to see them together, yes, but he still wished… He shook his head, dislodging the thoughts and hoped for the thousandth time Vincent would visit soon.

Vincent had remained a Hand with the CNO. Cloud understood Vincent's decision, the gunman _needed_ the job. He'd spent too many years as a Turk where the job was everything, too be able to settle down and live some sort of civilian life of peace and roses. Maybe, if Chaos hadn't left…but the demon had, and Cloud knew Vincent missed him more than he was willing to admit.

Chaos left of the Nibel Mountains days after peace was signed with Shinra. The demon was tired of commanding humans and living among them. Without the war to focus on Cloud thought Chaos felt lost. The demon had lived and breathed the war, putting up with many things in order to ensure Shinra's defeat: the constant human prejudice, the stares and whispers wherever he went.

Vincent was Chaos's only friend, and the demon wanted it that way. Cloud didn't know if Vincent and the demon still maintained their relationship since Chaos's leaving, but he thought they had to some point; they could talk mind-to-mind despite the distance. The mind link the two shared, forged by years of inhabiting the same body, hadn't waned, and Cloud knew they'd often used it during the war. It was not the same as speaking face to face though, and Cloud sensed how much Vincent missed Chaos's presence whenever the Hand visited.

Chaos had gone to the place of his birth; maybe to find some peace with the past, maybe to find a reason to continue existing without the war to ground him. If the demon was feeling adrift, he was in good company. Cloud felt the same unsure air hanging about Vincent, he felt it himself, and knew Elfé did as well. If it hadn't been for Shears, Elfé would've thrown herself back into the fight against Shinra long before now.

Elfé suffered from gnawing restlessness, a mirror of Cloud's own mood. They would leave the peaceful valley when it became too much, hunting down every monster they could get their swords into. The trips relieved some of the building dissatisfaction with this 'simple life' they now found themselves in. They'd both been fighting too long with too little to fall back on, (so few memories of life before war) to embrace a life without it.

Sometimes Vincent would visit, brining an interesting mission with him; he always seemed to know when Cloud couldn't take the 'peace' any longer. They'd spend a few weeks together, an echo of days gone, and Cloud would find himself wishing the war had never ended.

He understood why Vincent couldn't give up his work, and if the Knights were anything but glorified monster hunters now, he too would've stayed. But when Elfé and Chaos left, the army hadn't been the same. Genesis was the General now and Cloud didn't want to serve under the man.

More than one person felt their lives had suddenly been short-circuited and left to drift without the purpose they'd all burned with during the war. Peace was overrated. So many others seemed able to pick up where they'd left off. But then that was the problem; there was no 'left off' not for Cloud, Elfé, Vincent, and Chaos. As much as Cloud knew he should appreciate the peace and a life free of Shinra's reigns, he couldn't help longing for the life of battle, when the adrenaline and purpose were so strong in his veins he could taste it.

War was a drug, and Cloud had OD'd. He didn't know how to get off this carrousel, didn't know how to stop wishing, remembering, wanting, to taste that drug again. War was ugly. There was no poetic beauty in it, but that didn't make it any less addictive. War brought out the worst in mankind, and the best. The smell of fear and a man pissing his pants, the way you never could get all the mud and guts out of your clothes, the faces of those you'd killed and those you'd held while they chocked on blood and vomit as they died in agony. War made them all cowards and war made them all a little super human. Maybe it was as the old legends say: War is a god.

The war was long over now, had been for nine months. After Genesis's defection the Peace Talks had been concluded in a matter of weeks. Shinra's position had taken a direct hit when its red General joined the CNO. If Sephiroth had returned to Shinra's ranks Genesis's defection would've been nothing, but Sephiroth had been decidedly vague when the Turks had come to 'collect' him.

The day after Sephiroth's obviously uninhibited stroll through the Palace corridors, Veld and Tseng had come calling. It would've been better in the Wutai Turk had come alone though. Tseng was a natural mediator with a calming presence, but most importantly, Sephiroth respected the Turk Second in Command. Sephiroth might have walk out with Tseng that day, and things would have gone very differently for Shinra, but Tseng had not been alone.

Sephiroth hadn't even bothered with the pretence of handcuffs when the two Turks arrived. The General was reading a book, calm and collected as you please, not a restraint in sight. Veld did not handle the situation well in Cloud's opinion. The Turk leader brought the baggage of the past into the room with him, taking personal insult to Vincent's presence and forfeiting his cool mask to pick bones with the past. Veld made no effort to hide his ire and loathing when faced with his old colleague, bringing up previous affronts and unforgiven incidents twenty-five years gone. The man could hold a grudge, and had become bitter and cruel after the death of his wife and daughter –killed by his own hand even if it had been an accident.

Veld accused Sephiroth of deserting Shinra like Genesis, and threatened the General with the full weight of Shinra's retaliation. Sephiroth raised an eye brow and calmly stated that he was obviously CNO's prisoner, and if Rufus wanted him back he'd best be sure to fit in into the negotiations.

With the loss of its two top General's, Shinra's position had been indubitably weakened. The Peace Talks ended with Shinra forfeiting half the Northern Continent to the CNO, and signing an agreement for the termination of all its Mako Reactors in a ten year period –as well as other smaller concessions.

Wutai hadn't come out much better. Ryquendë didn't care about the weakened country now their use was eclipsed by her agreement with Shinra. Shinra was able to bring the full might of its flagging, but still impressive, military behind its parleying with the destitute country. A ceasefire had been drawn, but Shinra now ruled over half of the former Wutai Empire, leaving only northern Wutai independent of foreign rule.

The CNO emerged from the Talks several cities richer with the northwestern lands added to the young republic. The northern cities were considerably less war torn, and their stable economies lent strength to the Confederacy. The war ravaged Western Continent had begun finding its feet, and with the peace and a strong leader in Ryquendë, had come a long way since throwing off Shinra's rule.

Cloud had expected life under Ryquendë's rule to be unbearable, but the witch was too busy trying to solidify her power to bring out the tyranny yet. Vincent brought news of the successful end of the witch's pregnancy only last month; she'd had twin boys. Cloud was tempted to see them, these small parts of his Lady, he wanted to see what she was like as a wife and mother, but he forced himself to remain in the Canyon. That part of his life was over; he didn't need to get entangled with the witch again. If there was anything he truly enjoyed about the war's conclusion, it was the absence of Ryquendë's oppressive presence. She was settled in Rocket Town (the CNO's capital) with husband and now two sons, and Cloud hoped he never again had to endure the temptation of her presence.

Cloud drew up outside the white-washed little cottage Elfé and Shears called home. It was still strange thinking of them living in such a quant abode. He couldn't quite imagine the swordswoman planting wildflowers in the weed-ridden lawn, or little children running around with Elfé chasing at their heels. Maybe in ten years, or another lifetime, Cloud thought with a snort.

He always enjoyed coming here. The place radiated happiness and contentment –a reflection of Shears's love. He did not doubt Elfé cared a great deal for the man, but he also knew she found no peace here even if she'd found a lover. Shears on the other hand was approaching thirty, and after almost ten years fighting Shinra he was ready to lay down his gun and be with the woman he loved.

Shears had taken up work in the Wind-Catcher farms, much to Cloud's initial surprise. The work suited the man though; Shears had always had a hand for working things. The man also loved 'riddin the winds,' as it was called. Shortly after the Wind-Catchers were built, the practice of wind ridding emerged; it was a cross between surfing and snowboarding. As the gathered wind was funneled down to the generators, it was compressed tightly enough from a man to 'ride.' Cloud had only tried it a few times on Shears insistence, and if he hadn't been mako enhanced and wearing a helmet he'd probably be dead. It was no child's game and Cloud lacked the natural grace Shears had with the wind-board under his feet.

Shears had settled into a life without war, but was acutely aware of Elfé's own restlessness. One day Elfé would leave Cosmo Canyon, and when she did Shears would follow her as he'd always done in the past; Cloud wouldn't be far behind either. Elfé was their leader, whether it was AVALANCHE or the Knights or times of peace, they would follow because they loved her and knew it was either follow or be left behind because Elfé would never be persuaded to stay.

Warm light spilled from the kitchen windows onto the dirt-trod path, and Cloud caught Shears's loud laughter as he approached. It made his heart ache for the days he'd been in there with them as more than just a guest, but he couldn't begrudge them the measure of happiness they'd managed to attain, knowing how fleeting it could be. He'd paste on a smile tonight, as he always did, trying to hide how much he hated the cold, lonely walk back to his apartment. He yearned for Vincent's comfortable silence to fill the emptiness, the warmth of Shears's laugh, the steadiness of Elfé's eyes. When he lay alone in his bed at night his thoughts would drift to the one he'd promised himself to forget: Sephiroth.

Sephiroth had returned to Shinra as Cloud knew he would, but they'd parted as close to friends as they had ever been. He'd never been sure how Sephiroth considered him, only what his own heart wished. Sephiroth shocked him by apologizing for his behavior the day of their estrangement, and left him speechless when he'd confessed why he'd acted so coldly afterwards.

The man admitted to wanting him sexually and apologized for his inappropriate desires. Cloud never would've believed it possible for Sephiroth to not only apologize, but confess such a thing openly, if he hadn't heard it from the man himself. Cloud forgave the man –recognizing how rare such an apology must be—and while a part of him wished to keep up the wall which had built between them, he found himself regressing right back to the same thoughts and desires he'd entertained before the incident. He promised himself he wasn't going to be so weak. Even if Sephiroth hadn't meant to manipulate him this time, it didn't mean such an occurrence would never happen, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting and hoping. Sephiroth made it very clear that even if he might want Cloud sexually, it didn't change Cloud's age, or that sexual desire meant nothing else. Cloud knew this was true, just because the man wanted to fuck him didn't mean he wanted to be friends or…lovers, but his wild imagination still subjected him to all sorts of ridiculous what ifs. He hadn't seen the Shinra General in nine months, and yet he still couldn't get the illogical desires and thoughts out of his head; he couldn't help wondering what might have been if only he'd been a little older.

Cloud shook off the relentless thoughts as Shears swung the door open. The night ate up the fleeing light, outlining Shears's silhouette in the darkness. Light molded Shears's cheekbones as he turned back to yell Cloud's arrival at Elfé, before beckoning Cloud forward.

"Where you been, you little shit head?" Shears grinned as he pulled Cloud into the kitchen. "We almost started without ya, would've served ya right too, working yourself into a fucking early grave." He mumbled darkly before winking at Cloud.

Cloud rolled his eyes at his friend's predictable grumblings; Shears was always at him to stop working so much and find himself a girl. That was Shears's recipe for all troubles: a woman.

The smell of frying bread assaulted his nose as he stepped into the roomy kitchen. He barely got out a greeting to Elfé who was laboring over a sizzling frying pan, before Shears put him to work setting the table.

"Shears cut up those avocados," Elfé clipped, as serious as if she'd asked the man to wire a bomb.

Shears mock saluted before snagging a knife close enough to Elfé to land a teasing kiss upon her nape. Elfé blushed a little, and chided the man only half seriously. Shears was always free with his affections, but Elfé was usually too private a person to approve of public displays, even if Cloud was the only public.

Once the customary pleasantries were over the talk turned to the new blade Cloud was forging, with plenty of antidotes from Shears about moving into gun design. Shears enthused for a time about the Wind-Catcher Company's tentative plans to turn wind-riddin into an amusement attraction. Elfé had quite a bit to say about suicidal tendencies, even with Shears claiming the company was going to make it children safe.

They didn't talk about Elfé's interests. They never did. Elfé was still involved in Shinra terrorist organizations, even if she didn't openly fight against Shinra. They didn't discuss it because it inevitably led to Cloud and Elfé leaving for a few days of monster hunting, and the unspeakable bridge between the war and their present civilian life rattling under the weight of a forbidden crossing. Shears hated hearing Elfé mention –even casually—her plans to start up AVALANCHE again. He never said anything, but it was written in his silence, the pressure of whitened lips, and the flicker of agitated eyes.

As Cloud piled the fare onto his plate he asked, "Where did you learn how to fry bread Elfé? It isn't a Canyon recipe."

"Costa Del Sol," Shears grunted for her, and stuffed rice and beans into his fried bread. "Real popular up there. Practically the only fucking thing we ate during the Costa Campaign, eh Elfé?"

Elfé nodded and suggested, "Try it in the oil," as she delicately dipped her own flat bread into the scented mixture.

Oil dripped down Cloud's chin as he shoveled the soaked bread into his mouth. The wheat's sweetness melded with rosemary and olive oil slammed into his taste buds. After licking his fingertips he complimented the suggestion before sliding one of the forthed avocado pieces onto his tongue.

Shears made a face, "How can you eat those plain, man?" Cloud just shrugged, and picked out another ripe slice.

After they'd finished the meal –it never took the ex-soldiers long to consume good food—Cloud helped stack the plates, reluctant to take his leave yet. He watched Shears slip an arm about Elfé's slim waist as she scrubbed soaking dishes.

They were so perfect for each other. A little smile tugged at Elfé's lips as Shears whispered into the curve of her neck. Shears could always make the serious swordswoman smile, and Cloud wondered if that was why she'd chosen him.

Cloud listened to the sighing wind; it often filled the long hours of night when it was his only companion in the loneliness. He didn't want to return to his little apartment. It wasn't home, this was the closest thing he had to home, and yet, without Vincent, it couldn't quite be that either. Was this really worth all the blood on his hands, all the lives he'd taken, all the nightmares he relived alone in a cold bed? Peace really was overrated when it came at such a price.

Elfé's rare, girlish laugh broke his thoughts. Shears swung her about, lifting her right off her toes. His arms were loose about her as they swayed to some terribly mangled tune Shears was humming as he danced with his woman. Elfé was laughing, even as she pretended to swat away Shears's insistent kisses. The man looked drunk, but it was only happiness glazing his eyes and stretching the goofy smile upon his lips. He was in love. Had been in love for years, and finally had the girl of his dreams in his arms, and he wasn't ever going to let her go.

Cloud watched them for a long moment, hating himself for the tinge of jealously creeping under his skin. He wanted them to be happy, more than anything, but he also wanted a piece of that happiness for himself. Sharp green eyes, sword-silver hair, an aristocratic profile, haunted him, but he pushed the hopeless desire away. He'd probably never see the man again; he couldn't keep tormenting himself with pointless what ifs.

A hollow knock brought an end to Cloud's gloomy thoughts, as well as Elfé and Shears's carless moment.

Elfé frowned, "Are you expecting someone?" She questioned Shears.

"Nope, maybe it's an emergency up at the farm?" Shears threw the door open. The night's gusty wind blew a red cape in first, black raven hair whipped about the light-washed paleness of a face pierced by glowing red eyes.

"Vincent?" Cloud was in his father's arms in a heartbeat, hardly caring that he was fast approaching sixteen and adulthood. He hated Vincent's long absences, even though he didn't blame the Hand for them.

Gold metal clasped about his shoulders, and Cloud read the surprised question in Vincent's voice, "Cloud?" Vincent hadn't come to expect such an enthusiastic greeting, but Cloud just buried his noise in his father's cloak, soaking up the familiar scent. It had been a long, hard month since he'd last had his father with him.

Finally he pulled away, meeting concerned red eyes, "It's nothing." He tried to brush his overreaction away, but Vincent's face promised a future discussion.

"We didn't know you were coming Vincent, are you staying long?" Elfé motioned them into the living room, the serious look in her eyes betraying her understanding that this was more than a casual visit.

"It was sudden, yes," Vincent glided cat-like to a chair. Never one to mince words, the gunman said, "I am being sent to Midgar."

"Why?" Cloud demanded.

"There have been several recent border disputed between Shinra and the CNO's Northern Territories, as well as growing unrest in Northern cities and…rumors of Wutai gathering an army. The peace may not last much longer."

Elfé raised a brow, "This is news about Wutai. Does Shinra know they are planning open war?" Vincent shook his head. "But what does this have to do with you being sent to Midgar? Shouldn't the CNO begin preparing for Shinra's retaliation if the North rebels?"

"The President-" Vincent broke off at a snort from Shears.

"Sorry," the man gaffed, "Just never thought I'd see the day you called her anything so respectful, what happened to 'the witch?'"

Vincent's mouth twitched. "I am afraid I've slipped into a poor habit. I was…discouraged from calling her such as the Director of the Hands."

Cloud smiled, "Yeah, she'd milk her titles for all their worth, even if she'd have preferred 'empress.'"

"True. Well, _the witch_ has decided she doesn't want another war with Shinra, something she has the full support of The Council on. The CNO's army is largely disbanded, and unless Shinra invades the CNO itself, we would have to rely on conscription to fill its ranks."

Elfé frowned, "Then what is her purpose in sending you to Midgar?"

"I am to be the CNO's Emissary." Vincent's mouth curled in displeasure. "I am taking two other Hands loyal to me along as well: Elena and Jessie."

"Jessie?" Shears exclaimed, "How's our girl holding up? She might not be the smartest choice for a mission into the shit-hole of Shinra, though."

Vincent nodded his agreement, but stood by his choice. Jessie was a former AVALNACHE member who'd been recruited by the Hands during the war. She was as anti-Shinra as they came, but she was also professional and trustworthy, and would keep her personal feelings out of the mission –for the most part.

"She can handle sleeping in Shinra Tower," Vincent said. "If Wutai breaks its treaty with Shinra, I'll need Hands loyal to me above the witch and the CNO. This mission could drag on for months, it all depends on politics and how much Shinra and the witch really want to avoid another costly war. My job is to ensure whatever northern border disputes arise, they do not result in another war."

Vincent searched Cloud's face, "I thought you might like to accompany me on this mission?"

Midgar. Cloud's breath locked in his throat, his tongue dust-dry in his mouth. Sephiroth was in Midgar, and Vincent knew it. Vincent also knew Cloud would never be able to refuse. Once a Turk, always a Turk. "Yeah."

Jeweled eyes glinted in pleasure, and Cloud smirked in return. He didn't care if Vincent had ulterior motives for asking him, his father wanted him along for himself and for the son he'd not seen in months, the rest hardly mattered to Cloud. He was going to Midgar and he would see Sephiroth again, and be with his father.

"I shall join you." Elfé's voice was calm with determination. Cloud saw Shears's hand turn white about his armrest, the fisted grip nearly shattering the wood. "I've had some dealings with the active terrorists in Midgar. They are well established, but the lack leadership and direction to be a major threat."

"You plan to join them?" Shears's voice was quiet as the surge before a tsunami. Elfé did not look at him, merely nodded stiffly. Shears closed his dark eyes, one hand releasing its death grip to fiddle with his bandana, as he always did when nervous. Suddenly the tension melted out of him, leaving the man limp as a deer after the hunter's shot. "Then I am going with you."

It was inevitable, Cloud knew, but it still torn at him too see the utter ruin of Shears's happiness. It had been a bubble –one the man knew would pop—but it'd been no less precious for the approaching doom. It could never have lasted, and the pain and knowledge of this was bleeding into Shears eyes. It had been festering like an open wound for days, weeks, months, knowing no matter what he did he could not keep Elfé here with him. He'd either have to follow her back to war, or lose her.

"You are both welcome to come," Vincent broke the iron-weighted silence. "I will have to stay in Shinra Tower no doubt, and Cloud?" Cloud gave a small nod of assent. "It will be difficult to maintain contact, but not impossible. We should leave in the morning."

….

Vincent's red cape billowed behind him as he took to the corridors, eagerly escaping the concluded meeting. He'd never been one for the sly maneuvers of politics, and the slippery shuffling of money. The long hours in the boardroom –surrounded by fat, sweaty Shinra Directors and the sickly-sweet aroma of the female executives—grated upon his nerves.

Rufus Shinra had opened his doors to the CNO's emissary, eager himself to avoid a war following so quickly upon the heels of the last. Vincent was prepared for long tedious negotiations and hollow pleasantries, but he could not endure the plate he'd been served. He'd been dragged to official dinner after official dinner, forced to sit through pointless executive meetings with little to nothing to do with the CNO. He'd been paraded about like a prized peacock, enduring the scornful stares and empty, sugary smiles, for two months now. His work as diplomat smoothed the turbulent waters of the northern border disputes –even with Wutai declaring war upon Shinra only weeks ago—but if he had to suffer much more of Shinra's 'welcome,' a war would damn well start, and it'd begin with him blasting the head off the Head of the Science Department: Hollander. Vincent hated scientists, and he despised Hollander almost as much as Hojo.

Veld was also asking for some point-blank rounds in the gut. The Turk Director had become a sadistic bastard who went out of his way to cause Vincent migraines. It'd been a long time since Vincent had been this annoyed –no he was far passed annoyed. When you have experienced death, the aggregations of life lose their glimmer, but Vincent was not made for this. He was a Hand, an ex-Turk, a gunman, not a politician. If it hadn't been for Sephiroth he'd never have accepted this mission, but he hadn't seen his son for nine months, and didn't want them to meet on the opposite ends of a war again.

Tseng brushed passed him, body-warmed paper slipping into Vincent's palm. He closed a fist about it, his eyes never flickering to the departing Turk's back. At least Vincent wasn't alone in this fight. Some Shinra, like Tseng, had the sense to see past the end of their noses and realize exactly what another war would entail. Unfortunately Veld was not of the same mind, nor were many of the Shinra executives –too dim-witted and conniving to think passed their covetous fingers. In Tseng and the Head of Urban Development, Reeve Tuesti, Vincent had found unexpected allies. They both had their own motives –Tseng wouldn't be a Turk without them—but Vincent had no problem helping the Turk and Shinra Executive as long as those goals corresponded to his own agenda. For the moment they labored together to keep the fragile peace, one constantly threatened as much from within Shinra's high ranks as from without.

Veld was one of the main instigators in the campaign for Shinra's expansion. Vincent's old partner had become a warmonger, and was doing everything in his power to stir the Company Board and young President against the CNO, and by extension, Vincent. Veld had once been an honorable man, hard and dedicated to his job, but steadfast in his principles. The change had begun with the death of his wife and child, and only progressed from there. Vincent knew exactly how hard it was to remain true to one's self and humanity within the life of a Turk, and without the grounding of Veld's family, he'd fallen farther and farther into the job until there was little else left, even Turk loyalty had taken a backseat to the Company and the mission. Veld had been Tseng's mentor, and the younger Turk would always respect him, but was not blind to the changes. Tseng told Vincent that Veld had become obsessed with the destruction of the CNO (or at the time, rebellion) after learning of Vincent's involvement.

Vincent had never had the best working relationship with his old partner, but it had never held the venom and petty-cruelty it now did. Veld blamed Vincent for everything that had gone wrong –the destruction of the empire he'd given his life to build, as well as the deaths of his wife and daughter—it was illogical, but Veld was past thinking logically. Veld had judged Vincent responsible, and no reason could pierce the bitter hate. The Turk Director was doing everything in his power to bring war against the CNO again, as if by striking there he could somehow cripple Vincent as well.

Vincent cracked the slip of paper open: Dest. Bone Village. Tk Reno. Tk Rodeo. Est. 01700.

The gunman swallowed his disappointment, it was far too late for that, Veld's course was set. Gratitude for Tseng's help surged through him; it must have been Tseng who assigned Reno to the mission –there was still some hope it would not succeed. Veld wanted a war and knew how to make one. Bone Village was on the North Continent and at the heart of the on-going border disputes; Veld was sending his Turks there to bring him a war, in whatever form. If Rodeo had been the only Turk on this mission Vincent was sure he'd be spend a month soothing over ruffled feathers –if not high-tailing it back to Rocket Town and war; the seasoned Turk was ruthless and never turned away from an order. Rodeo had spent five years as a bodyguard for Don Corneo, and if that wasn't enough to kill a man's morality, nothing was. Vincent thought the Turk would murder his own mother if Veld gave the order. Rodeo was talented too, one of the best. He wielded his two handguns with deadly precision, and hid a calculating mind behind his wild, eclectic blue bangs.

Reno was accompanying Rodeo on the mission though, and was one of Tseng's –along with Cissnei, Rude, and Marie (Shotgun)—their loyalty was given to the Turks above the Company. Vincent was reluctant at first to bring the junior Turks into their schemes –and Reeve even more so, not being breed a Turk—but they had all proved trustworthy and highly skilled.

Vincent believed Reno capable of botching the mission successfully, with none the wiser. Reno was good at hiding his potential, but there was cunning and intelligence sharp as a blade in those celadon eyes. They couldn't afford for the young Turk too fail. Vincent didn't know if he'd be able to forestall Shinra retaliation if Veld had sent the Turks too do as he suspected; he was barely keeping the Peace propped up with Wutai's ill-advised war, as it stood. The diminished island would never break free of Shinra's control, but they were too proud and stubborn to back down.

Veld's last attempt at warmongering had put a definite chinch in the battered shield of Peace. A man had been found dead and mutilated in the bed of a CNO border guard. There was no doubt in Vincent's mind that a Turk had placed the dead man there as a clear message, but it had been all Vincent could do to counter balance the CNO's anger.

Veld had known just where to strike to itch one of the messier border problems. The border guards weren't there to stop a Shinra invasion –they had the army for that—but to waylay illegal immigrants flooding into the CNO from Shinra's lands.

Illegal immigration was a touchy subject for Shinra as well as the CNO. Shinra wasn't pleased with loosing even more of its population, and the CNO was no more grateful to have them. While some of the immigrants were descent people just hoping that the grass was greener on the other side, most were criminals running from Shinra law, the poverty stricken with nothing to offer the CNO who already had enough homeless from the war, or pimps and drug dealers looking for fresh clientele or escaping to new cities after not making it in the dog-eat-dog world of the Midgar slums.

Rocket Town had an exploding population as the capital of the CNO and a skyrocketing crime rate to go with it. Vincent was intimately familiar with the lowlife of the capital as a Hand, and knew exactly how little the CNO had too offer the illegal immigrants. There would only be more hunger and want for the poor, and hopefully less opportunities for the criminals; the CNO didn't have the densely packed population of the major Shinra cities of Midgar and Junon, nor the wealthy patrons for the money funding the major crime rings in Midgar received. But Vincent knew better then to hope the pimps and drug deals never found a foot hold. Human nature never changes whether its Shinra ruling from its high tower, or others; there will always be the haves and the have-nots, and those looking to make a profit off other's suffering. There was nothing Vincent could, or would ever try to do, to change that truth, but he was determined to give his utmost to this fragile peace. He had no enduring loyalty to the CNO, but he didn't want to see Cloud march off to war again, especially not if he faced meeting his SOLDIER friend Fair or Sephiroth in combat.

Vincent caught the flash of a silver head and lengthened his stride, easily out distancing the lulling Shinra Executives milling about him. He hated these board meetings. Sephiroth had fled the conference room first, having an ideal position directly beside the double doors.

"General," he greeted as he pulled level with the man.

"Valentine," Sephiroth gave him a tight nod, neither one acknowledging each other as more than passing acquaintances in the publicity of Shinra's watching corridors. "What are your thoughts on Algerton's new proposition?"

Vincent let the shadow of a smirk pull his lips, knowing Sephiroth would see it and agree. Algerton was a fool, and the President knew it. Rufus had appointed the man as the new Head of Energy, the department created for the sole purpose of discovering an alternative means of energy to Mako Power. Rufus had no intention of finding an alternative source of energy though. It was all for show, and Vincent and Ryquendë knew it. The Shinra President may have signed a treaty swearing to depose all Mako Reactors in ten years, but Rufus didn't care about a dying Planet; his only concern was profit and re-building Shinra's power. The CNO and Shinra would be at war within ten years, and all treaties made void with blood.

"Hum," was Vincent's only reply, before leaning towards the General. "Are you headed to your office?"

"Yes, walk with me." Vincent nodded and they finished the journey in silence, both continuing the game of indifference.

Sephiroth clicked the office door shut behind him. "It's clean," he assured Vincent as he strode to his desk chair.

Vincent tilted his head in acknowledgment of the bug-free room. He glided silently to the large floor-length windows, and Sephiroth followed the movement with expectant eyes. "Commander Hewley is being sent to the front?" He asked, though he already knew.

Sephiroth raised a brow, "You're surprisingly well informed. Yes, Angeal ships out in a few hours."

"Hum." Metal fingers settled delicately upon the window glass reflecting red eyes. "You were a more obvious choice. Wutai would be crushed within weeks."

"Perhaps," Sephiroth shuffled through some papers, then, "I refused the mission."

Vincent was silent a moment. "Why?"

Sephiroth tapped his finger against the desk, not turning to look back at Vincent. "War is my province. I will not deny enjoying it, perhaps too much, but Wutai will still be there in a few months and some other interests may not."

Vincent did not need to ask for clarification, and a fleeting smile lit his eyes. Sephiroth had stayed for him, perhaps Cloud too. Gold claws hid beneath the tattered cloak again, and Vincent turned to watch his son flip through more paper work, scrawling a signature every so often.

"Fair is planning to take Cloud out and get him drunk tonight." Sephiroth commented offhandedly.

"A SOLDIER should have no trouble getting an underage boy into those types of establishments, I am sure." Vincent replied non-committaly. Cloud was sixteen now, far under the drinking age, but Vincent wasn't concerned; Cloud could look after himself. "Are you going? Too keep an eye on your SOLDIER?"

Sephiroth grunted, "I would have let Angeal deal with Fair, but he's leaving his afternoon. I might track them down later. With Fair, I'm sure half the unit will show up, and SOLDIERs never mix well with civilians, especially when alcohol is involved."

They were interrupted when the door swung open unceremoniously, emitting Commander Hewley. Vincent had never met the Commander in such a casual setting, and he let his eyes run over the broad shouldered man. His eyes lingered on the dark shadows under blue-grey eyes, and the deep lines in sun-darkened skin. The Commander did not look well, but Vincent could not determine if it was the result of stress and simple fatigue, or something more sinister.

"Sephiroth…Valentine," the man greeted, gaze linger on Vincent's gauntlet and glowing red eyes. Vincent's face gave no sign of annoyance, impassively holding the probing look.

"Angeal," Sephiroth returned with a cool incline of his head. Vincent was a bit surprised by at the lack of warmth in the greeting; he'd thought the two SOLDIERs were closer. Perhaps their relationship had suffered more then he'd originally believed from Genesis's abandonment.

"I'm shipping out in a few hours," Angeal said stiffly, slanting a glance at the gunman. Vincent wondered how much Sephiroth had told the Commander of their relationship, if anything at all.

Angeal's words carried a world of unvoiced thoughts. Clearly the General's decision to stay had not been welcomed by the Commander. "Since I will be gone for several months, I need you to watch over Zack for me, or is that too much to ask?" Angeal's mouth turned down in weary sourness.

"It is not," Sephiroth rejoined quietly, hands stilled upon the paper work.

"I know you think him a nuisance," Angeal continued as if he'd not heard. "And as a First Class he can look after himself. I am not asking you to babysit him-"

"I know, Angeal," Sephiroth cut in. "I said I'd look after your student, and I will." Sephiroth lifted his chin, eyes hard and daring.

"As you looked out for Genesis?" Angeal snapped back, seemingly without meaning to as his mouth wrung tight after the words.

Sephiroth was silent, mirrored eyes staring impassively out of the metal-sheet of his face. Vincent's hand twitched, not appreciating the Commander's accusation against his son. Finally Sephiroth said, "Genesis was capable of looking after himself. If you find such offence in my behavior, then maybe you shouldn't entrust your beloved student to my care?"

"I have no choice; you saw to that when you shirked your duty to SOLDIER." Angeal flashed back.

"And where were _you_ when SOLDIER needed its Commander? Where were you when your best friend was _dying_?" Sephiroth clipped back, voice wavering with suppressed anger.

Angeal reeled back as if slapped, "Dying? What new games are you playing now? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I would've told you months ago if you hadn't stormed out of here the moment you decided I hadn't tried hard enough to bring Genesis back."

"Don't you dare turn this back on me! That was months ago!" Angeal's palms slapped down on Sephiroth's desk, mako-bright eyes glaring.

Sephiroth's lip curled in disdain, "It was wasn't it? And yet, I think it's about that much time since you decided you weren't speaking to me anymore."

"You petty, arrogant-"

"Enough," Vincent's voice, smooth and sharp as a precisely fired bullet, cut through the argument, "Your friend is well, yet you speak as if he were dead. He was healthy and happy enough only two months ago. He chose to leave Shinra and nothing Sephiroth did could persuade him. He was already lost, and willingly so."

Angeal pulled back, narrowed eyes sweeping over Vincent. "Genesis had no reason to leave; he'd only just been made General. He had everything he'd ever wanted."

Vincent quirked a brow at Sephiroth who looked away, "He doesn't know, just what's general knowledge about Genesis being made the CNO's General." His son confessed.

"I don't know what?" Angeal demanded.

"Genesis left Shinra because he was dying. Hollander couldn't help him but the CNO President could." Angeal's mouth compressed at Sephiroth's words.

"Dying, of what?"

"He called it degragation." Vincent and Sephiroth looked up at Angeal's startled gasp, the hard lines of the Commander's face whitening.

"Angeal?" Sephiroth frowned.

Vincent's mind raced, putting the scattered pieces together. "You have it too." He stated calmly.

Angeal looked away, "Hollander said nothing of Genesis when he told me."

"Only the witch can heal you, but..."

"At a great price," Sephiroth finished.

"I will not abandon SOLDIER, or Zack." Angeal said firmly.

"Do you think your student would prefer you dead or a member of the CNO?" Vincent asked, though he doubted the price of Ryquendë's help would be anything so simple.

Angeal turned away stiffly. "I must protect my honor, my dreams, and my pride; without them I am nothing."

"Angeal-"

"No," Angeal cut Sephiroth off. "No, I will go to Wutai." He ran a hand through his dark hair, "I do not wish to deal with this until I return."

Sephiroth's mouth was unyielding as granite, but then, "Sephiroth, this is my decision, my life, I need some time, please." The proud Commander asked, and finally Sephiroth gave a tight nod.

"I'm not really surprised Genesis abandoned Shinra, SOLDIER, us, because of this." Angeal said quietly.

"It was more…" Sephiroth grudgingly allowed. "He's married, to Ryquendë, their President."

Angeal's head whipped up, "What? How could you not tell me this? How did I not know?"

"It's not common knowledge. Rufus did not wish it to be, and placed a gag order on all Shinra representatives in Wutai, as well as keeping it out of the press. I would have told you, but…" Sephiroth's eyes hardened in hate. "That woman is vile, and I'd prefer to forget it."

"Why would Genesis marry her then?" Angeal demanded.

Sephiroth slid around the question, obviously unwilling to mention the witch's powers. "He liked her well enough, and they were going to have a baby, supposedly."

Angeal's mouth opened and he soundlessly mouthed 'baby?'

"Twins, actually," Vincent interjected, "Boys, both a few months old now. They look just like their father, but with their mother's eyes."

"How could you not tell me?" Angeal's voice broke with incredulity.

Sephiroth met the accusing gaze squarely, "Easily. You weren't around to tell."

Anger twisted Angeal's face again. "How dare you sit there an act so self-righteous and blameless. Don't think for a minute Genesis chose this path without influence from you. You pushed us away-"

"I've heard enough." Sephiroth's voice stopped the angry words like a winter's blizzard dousing a raging fire. "If you miss him so much, then go visit him in Rocket Town and spare us your _honorable _speeches."

Angeal shook his head in disbelief. "You've never had honor, have you? Ever since Wutai, form the first moment we met, it has been nothing but Sephiroth; that's all you've ever cared about-"

"Maybe I have no honor," Sephiroth's voice rose to meet him as they vented years of frustrations. "But if you're the example of an honorable man, then I'll pass. You left your men, your duty, hanging like dirty laundry when they needed their Commander to lead them."

"And what would you call your actions now? Do our SOLDIERs not need you in Wutai?" Angeal's voice was still rigid, but his eyes flickered away from the hard truth, knowing his own shame.

"Maybe I've found something more important them my duty as General." Sephiroth's words carried the cool slap of winter as he caged the fire of his anger again.

Angeal dropped his hands and stepped back, but his face was like carved flint. "There is nothing more important than your position and responsibility as General. You have a duty to your SOLDIERs, and you cannot live with honor if you abandon it."

And right there was the reason Angeal would never truly accept Sephiroth. Why Sephiroth had forever hidden pieces of himself from his friend. Angeal would cling to his confined ideas of honor until the very end; never understanding that there was more to honor then the strictures imposed by position and society.

Sephiroth did not call the Commander back as he took his leave, heavy-booted feet thumping loudly in the silence. There was nothing left to say. Neither regretted their words, and no apologies would wipe away the stain of Genesis's absence. It was the final rending of all that was left of those idyll years together.

* * *

><p>Note: "War is a drug" is taken from <em>Hurt Locker<em>.


	10. A Web of Silver and Gold

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 10: A Web of Silver and Gold

Cloud was bent over the dining room table, designs spread out about him, when Vincent entered their rooms. The boy looked up as the door snapped shut behind the silent gunman, a small smile of welcome upon his lips.

"Still working on the plans for Shears?" Vincent asked, leaning over the back of Cloud's chair to get a better view of the sketches.

"Yeah," Cloud sighed, flicking his stubbed pencil away and running an agitated hand through his hair. "Elfé wants me to finish the improved gun design, even with her and Shears off in Wutai."

"Hum." Vincent ran his eye over the thinning papers, flakes of spent erasers clinging to its edges. "Any progress?"

Cloud bent to retrieve a long piece of rolled up graphing paper, and smoothed it out before Vincent's appraising gaze. "The missile launcher Elfé wanted was, surprisingly enough, the easier one to finish. Look," the boy pointed to the curling corner where a missile was split in two, revealing its interior. "Elfé wanted missiles that weren't laced with mako."

"Less expensive," Vincent agreed.

"Exactly. Well, it was simple really, I just had to go back to the basics and dig under all the fancy additions Shinra's tacked on to their missile launchers over the years."

"So what's the problem?" The gunman ran a gloved hand over the sketch, admiring his son's talent.

"The problem is this," Cloud pushed the altered missile launcher designs away, exposing the sketches he'd been working on when Vincent entered. "Elfé needs rifles that won't over-heat and jam when soldiers are trying to take down SOLDIERs. Shinra weapons aren't top notch even with all the money they pour into their Weapons Department, so they suffer from this same problem." Cloud sighed, "I'm not a gunsmith, the only weapons I've fashion are blades."

"Perhaps I could take a look?" Vincent suggested. He wasn't a gunsmith either, but he certainly knew his way around them.

"Would you?" Cloud looked up hopefully. "I just don't want to let her down, but I was getting really frustrated with this."

"Does she plan to use these new weapons in Wutai?" Elfé and Shears had left the fledgling Midgar terrorist group when Wutai had brought open war to Shinra. They'd both sold themselves as mercenaries, and the Wutainese –for all their distrust of foreigners—were not about to turn two such experienced fighters away.

"I don't know. I don't know anything." Cloud's cheeks puffed out as he expelled another sigh. "I just…I don't like them being so far away, especially when…."

"You don't trust the Wutainese." Vincent finished.

"No, yeah," Cloud shrugged.

"They can take care of themselves, and you know there was nothing you could have done to prevent their going, or at least Elfé."

Cloud fiddled with the pencil again. "I should have gone with them. I'd always thought…"

Vincent remained silent, knowing exactly why Cloud had stayed in Midgar. It was no secret to him the long hours Cloud spent with Sephiroth, and it was more than just their sparing session together. He knew Cloud was mostly the one doing the seeking out, but Sephiroth didn't seem opposed to spending time with the boy. The relationship had not moved past friendship, for which Vincent was thankful. He would never try to stop Cloud if the two chose to become intimate, but Cloud was still two years short of adulthood and he didn't want to see his son hurt –either of them.

It was a relief to know Cloud had someone to turn to here, in this hostel city. Vincent was too often busy with the tedious duties of diplomat to devote as much time to his son as he'd like. It had worried him in Cosmo Canyon, the way Cloud soaked up all his attention, and even more when they first arrived in Midgar. Cloud had asked to share rooms, and while he'd given the excuse of added protection, Vincent hadn't believed it for a second. It seemed he was destined to fail those he loved.

Vincent did his best to relieve the loneliness he saw in Cloud's eyes, but it wasn't until Cloud started spending time with Sephiroth that it truly ebbed. Cloud hadn't been able to see Elfé and Shears often since they were knee-deep in the anti-Shinra group, and now they were thousands of miles away, and beyond communication in Wutai.

"Cloud," he began carefully. "You realize some of the weapons you design will be used against SOLDIERs, _all_ SOLDIERs."

Cloud looked down, picking at his sleeve. "I know, I just... Elfé, she asked me to do this, but… what if…what if Zack or Sephiroth…"

Vincent gripped Cloud's shoulder wordlessly asking for the boy's eyes, and worried blue ones flickered up to him. "I do not want you to live with regret, Cloud; it is a harsh burden. It may seem superficial to concern yourself with who these weapons might or might not kill in other's hands. But trust me in this: if anything happenedyou would think about this moment and blame yourself over and over. In the night, when there is nothing but your own mind, the guilt would gnaw at you until you felt too blackened and unworthy to ever deserve forgiveness."

"Vincent," Cloud gasped. Vincent curled an arm about the boy's shoulder, surprised to find himself trembling from his disturbed past. "When did it all get so confusing?" Cloud's voice was muffled against the red cloak.

Vincent ran metal fingers carefully through Cloud's spikes, "When you realized the world wasn't black and white, that Shinra was made up of real people who could be both noble and wicked."

"What should I do?" Cloud begged, and Vincent was thrown back into a memory of a weeping twelve year old child just woken up for a four year nightmare who had nothing and no-one in the world.

"Only you can answer that question, Cloud."

Cloud was silent a long moment, before slowing pulling away to look up into ruby-red eyes. "I'm not going to give Elfé the plans. I can't, not if something could happen…but I feel…if she needs me I will stand by her side, and Shears, and fight against Shinra again if it's necessary, but I could never hurt Zack or Sephiroth."

"It is a great burden to bear, split loyalty, but I know you'll make the right choices when the time comes."

"I am not so sure." Cloud sighed and looked back at the abandoned designs, before beginning to gather them up.

"It's a worry for another day," Vincent said as he helped Cloud. "It's your birthday. I should not have started such heavy thoughts today for now you will spend the rest of it brooding." Cloud smiled slightly at the teasing.

"Fair is taking you out tonight?" Vincent ventured, and caught Cloud's slight wince.

Zack Fair had been a loyal friend to Cloud, but he had a tendency to drag the boy out 'socializing,' something Vincent knew Cloud did not appreciate and caused him to avoid Fair on occasion. Cloud was an intensely private person, and slow to trust. He didn't need or want a string of friends; loud groups tended to make the boy nervous and shy.

"Yeah, it's nice of him."

"Hum," nothing else was needed, they both knew it would be a celebration worthy of the energetic SOLIDER. Then, cautiously, "Will Fair bring the Cetra girl?"

Cloud shook his head, a troubled expression crossing his face as it always did when he thought of Aerith. Zack had taken him to see his girlfriend a few weeks ago, and what he'd thought would be a simple, maybe even pleasant meeting, turned out to be anything but:

Zack and Cloud cut through an abandon playground, graffitied slides and broken swings surrounded by trashed concrete all that the slums could offer its children for entertainment.

"You're gonna love Aerith," Zack grinned. He'd been praising Aerith non-stop since Cloud arrived in Midgar over two months ago. Apparently Zack had met Aerith on a mission, the SOLDIER had fallen right through an old church roof and directly at his angel's feet –for to hear Zack talk, Aerith must be an angel. "She might be a little shy in the beginning, she's not used to...well…guys like us, it makes her a little nervous." He scratched the back of his head.

If Zack had been able to get away with it, he would have had them leave their swords behind, but one didn't enter the slums unarmed, especially not with mako shining eyes. Cloud was fairly familiar with the slums by this point. He could still get easily lost, but if he wandered long enough he'd find his way back into the main streets and could navigate from there. Zack had taken him monster hunting down here on several occasions when he discovered how antsy Cloud could get; training could only go so far to relieve the constant dull ache for battle. It worked its way under a soldier's skin like an infection, and was nearly impossible to get out. Luckily Cloud did not suffer the disease alone; Zack was a battle junky too and never got tired of monster hunts.

They were headed to the open Sector Five market today where Aerith sold her flowers. It had been Zack's idea to start selling the precious flowers, and they brought in a tidy sum. It wasn't right to keep such beauty hidden in a church so few visited when all around was the slum's filth and the dregs of society. Everyone needed a little beauty in their lives.

The streets were crowed the closer they drew to the market and Cloud's light frame got pushed into the street gutter, combat boots sinking into the smelly water and rubbish. Wrinkling his nose, he shook out his soiled boot. Zack, finally realizing Cloud wasn't by his side anymore, turned back to look for him and burst out laughing at Cloud's bad luck.

"You're just so small, Spiky. You've got to learn how to push with the crowd. Don't let them shove you around like that." Zack advised, still grinning from ear to ear, thoroughly enjoying Cloud's disgusted face.

"That's easy for you to say." Cloud gripped, but only half-heartedly, it was hard to get upset with Zack, the SOLIDER was just so charming even while he was laughing at you. Zack certainly didn't have to worry about getting pushed around; he was at least a head taller than Cloud with broad shoulders from years of hard training, but more importantly, the SOLIDER carried himself with a natural confidence that drew the eye, rather than getting him flattened into gutters like a little mouse.

"You've just got to be more assertive Cloud. It's like you're trying to disappear or something. People aren't scary," Zack laughed, ruffling his hair. "You can lay the great Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class, on his back in a fight, but can't handle a few pushy people?" Zack shook his head ruefully.

Cloud shrugged, hating it when Zack put him on the spot like this. Zack was always trying to get him to be more outgoing, constantly introducing him to new people until all their names ran about in his ears and he became more and more withdrawn. Zack was his friend, why couldn't he see that Cloud didn't need anymore? He had Elfé and Shears and Vincent and Sephiroth, he was already wealthy, and he wished Zack would just stop pressing him. He wasn't that person, he wasn't Lee Talahali, and he didn't want to be. He was Cloud, and Cloud was shy yes, but he'd grown accustomed to Cloud. He'd learned to accept himself far more then he could have ever dreamed just four years ago when he'd been released from the witch's enslavement. He didn't think he despised himself anymore than the average person, and if he didn't have many friends, well, it was still hard for him to trust and open himself to others, but he wasn't unhappy with what he had.

"Come on, let's not keep my girl waiting," Zack pulled him forward, ducking under some sagging clothes lines and maneuvering them back into the street's flow.

The slum streets were a crisscrossed patchwork of sagging houses and brightly painted stores. It was as if the slum's inhabitants thought to bring themselves the sun by painting their streets in such merry colors, but the brightness of the paint job did nothing to deter from the utter hopelessness and pain infecting the very air down here. There was a heaviness to it, mixed in with the mako fumes and stench of waste, that Cloud didn't think even the sun's forgotten warmth could pierce.

Cloud craned his neck up as Zack dragged him along, searching passed the lines of clothes –drying stiff and rank in the foul, humid air—above the narrow street, trying to find a crack in the heavy, impenetrable Plate that hung over the slums like a hand of doom blocking out the sun. The summer heat rose from the concrete under their toes, suffocating without the sweet relief of a breeze to stir the stale under-Plate air.

Finally, they broke out of the tight residential streets and into the Sector Five open market. If a merchant couldn't afford a spot in Wall Market's coveted stales, they set up their goods here. The open market largely consisted of produce brought in by simple family farmers from Kalm, used clothing, house goods and trinkets, with the occasional weapons and drug dealer.

Zack steered them surly through the mass of blankets, spread out over the dirty ground to protect the seller's wares. Hands grabbed at their clothing and arms, little beggar children with dirty faces and eyes widen as much as possible to give them an innocent look, their soft voices asking them to spare a Gil, just a Gil for this poor boy, Shinra.

A tall, thin youth with the coffee skin of Mideel jogged after them, waving a shirt painted with Sephiroth's likeness, Masamune drawn and gleaming in the General's hand. "Very good, Shinra," the child flapped it before them, "Very fashionable, you want to buy, Shinra, yes?"

Cloud hunched his shoulders, trying to escape the hands, hating people touching him so freely. Zack had a friendly smile on his lips as he ruffled the little beggar boys' dirty hair, and slipped Gil into their eager hands. "Thank-you, Shinra," they were practically bowering, and the moment one left another would fill his place, word of a generous Shinra spreading like wildfire.

"Zack," Cloud hissed, wanting nothing more than to escape the pressing crowd.

"Don't worry Cloud," Zack looked back at him and the words of complaint dried on Cloud's tongue. Zack's bright smile did not reach his eyes, they were dark with knowledge. The SOLDIER knew where most of his Gil would land –a drug dealer's pockets—and how little he really could help these kids, but he laughed and joked with the hungry-eyed children anyway, and was their friend for a few short moments.

Cloud looked away, shamed by his own selfish concerns. He bore the children's touches in patient silence, even trying to paste a smile on his face, though it constantly wavered as the bodies pressed too close; he did not like being touched by strangers. He had to avert his eyes as one of the older boys pressed a bottle of glue to his noise, inhaling the fumes, killing his brain as he sought relief from the gnawing pain of an empty belly. When a woman tried to press her baby into his arms, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Zack!" He called as the woman strove to wrap his uncooperative arms about the child.

"He's a good boy, never cries. Please, please take 'im, Shinra." The woman pleaded, two more young toddles clinging to her tattered skirt. "Ya take 'im up to Plate, yes? He be a good son ta ya."

Zack broke away from the dancing children, all laughing and hipped-up by the SOLDIERs attentions and the Gil filling their pockets. Zack rescued Cloud from the desperate mother, talking softly to her and giving her the last of his money to buy her children some food.

Zack set a comforting hand on Cloud's shoulder, "You get used to it if you come down here often enough." The man's face was grim. "There's not much you can really do, there's just so many…" He trailed off.

"That woman, she was trying to give me her baby." Cloud whispered, as if the reality of the words could not breach the air.

Zack shrugged, "She wanted a better life for her child. She couldn't feed them all. Is it such a terrible thing to not want your child to grow up down here?"

"No," Cloud's lips were stiff about the word. He was no stranger to poverty, he'd grown up in it after all and seen his fair share in the years since, but there was nowhere else on the Planet that reached the numbers and extremity of the suffering in Midgar's slums. It could be overwhelming if one hadn't grown used, even callused, to its reality.

"Aerith should be right up here," Zack's excited voice dragged him from the gloomy thoughts. "Aerith!" Zack looped his arms about a slim girl's waist, lifting her and the basket of flowers she was holding right off the ground and twirling her about. "How's the prettiest girl in Midgar?"

"Zack!" The girl giggled, slapping the SOLDIER on the arm.

Zack grinned, kissing her smiling lips before gently setting her down. "And _this_," he waved a dramatic hand towards Cloud, "Is Cloud, the cutest Chocobo-"

Cloud punched the SOLDIER on the shoulder and Zack laughed, rubbing his arm in mock hurt. Cloud's own small smile at his friend's antics faltered and slid like dust from his mouth when he got his first clear view of Aerith. His breath caught in his throat. He knew this face, it had haunted enough of his dreams and nightmares, yet…it was not quite the same. Aerith's face was a little rounder, her eyes a soft leaf-green with perfectly circular pupils. Her hair fell in chestnut curls, not a silky wave of silver.

"Cloud?" Zack's worried voice reached him, and he realized he'd been staring at Aerith in horror. "Hey, what's up buddy?"

"Do you have family?" Cloud blurted, not quite able to tear his wary eyes away from the girl who looked so very like his onetime Lady.

The flower girl felt like Ryquendë too. Cloud had played host to Ryquendë's spirit long enough to develop a hyper-awareness for the differences between Cetra and humans. He could smell the girl's blood –it was watered down with human—but still rank with the scent of Cetra. Cloud associated it with the smell of rotting fruit, sickly sweet; it nauseated him. Mako smelt like that to him too. He thought if he went to Mideel, to the open vats of swirling Lifestream, he'd smell rotting fruit. The scent of the Planet's blood had forever been tainted by Ryquendë in his mind. Cetra shared a unique connection to the Planet, and those with strong enough blood could commune with it, hear its voice. The aroma of the Planet's blood hung about them as a great predator wears its scent, warning all lesser ones to keep away. So too did the Planet mark its blessed race.

"Family?" A crease worried Aerith's brow. She glanced at Zack, obviously seeing the distrust, even disgust, in Cloud's gaze.

"Yes, or rather, any who have died? A female?" Cloud pressed.

Aerith's eyes flickered away, and Cloud saw Zack's hand tense about his girlfriend's shoulders as he gave Cloud a confused, warning look. "No." Aerith denied, but it was lie.

"What's going on Cloud?" Zack demanded.

Cloud ran his eyes over Aerith's features again, shuddering at the similarities and disturbing differences in the girl's face: so alike and yet so different. "It's nothing." Cloud dismissed, trying to offer a friendly smile to the girl and knowing it failed utterly.

There was an awkward silence before Zack, in his usual way, plowed right through it. "Well, I was gonna take my girl out to lunch, but I'm afraid I misplaced all my Gil." He gave Aerith a sheepish smile.

"I have a bit," Cloud ventured hesitantly, it was really the least he could do after upsetting Aerith so much.

"I'm not taking your money, Spiky." Zack tried to wave him away.

"No it's all right, really." Cloud balanced one foot on his knee and slipped his fingers into the boot, wiggling around a bit before pulling out his meager stash of Gil.

Zack snorted, "You seriously keep money in your _shoe_, Cloud?"

Cloud flushed, "I might be a little paranoid."

"Just a bit," Zack laughed though, and it seemed as if Cloud's strange reaction to Aerith was wiped away.

Zack led the way, his arm looped about Aerith's waist as they weaved through the crowded streets. It didn't take them long to arrive at Zack's chosen restaurant. The cramped little building was painted a blinding salmon-red with music blaring out into the street. Zack held open the door for Aerith, the inside of which had a picture of a giant lobster wearing an apron and chief's hat on it. Aerith giggled, and Cloud slanted the girl a look. She looked so innocent in her pink dress and flower basket on her arm, but there was something decidedly sly in her eyes he thought. Nobody was that naïve. But Cloud didn't know if it was simply his own wariness of the girl's Cetra origins that added an extra layer of wile, or if she really was much more then she made herself out to be.

"Finest jambalaya this side of Costa Del Sol, baby," Zack winked.

Cloud rolled his eyes at Zack's outrageous flirting and ducked in after the couple. The wooden floor planks practically vibrated under his feet with the deep beat of the drums. "This way!" Zack shouted over the singer's amplified voice, and steered them to a corner table which offered a penance of privacy.

Zack brushed peanut shells off a chair before offering it to Aerith. Zack didn't give them time to feel uncomfortable as he was already signally a waitress over. A mass of snakelike braids spilled down the waitress's back. Her noise sported a ring and her ear lobes were heavy with wooden disks filling their stretched hollows. Zack wasted no time ordering them all the famous jambalaya and drinks.

"You're going to love it," Zack assured Aerith after the waitress's departure. "Have you ever had shrimp, baby?" Aerith mutely shook her head, hands clasped primly in her lap. Zack slid and arm about her, rubbing her arm. "Hey don't let this place's wildness throw you off, kay? Just relax, different isn't bad right?" Aerith gave the SOLDIER a shy smile which he returned with a huge grin of his own.

The girl had Zack wrapped around her little finger, and Cloud hoped again that she didn't have any hidden motives. He didn't trust Cetra as far as he could throw them, and while the girl seemed nice enough, you didn't grow up in Midgar's slums without learning a few tricks of survival.

Zack continued, "Well, it's probably a good thing you haven't eaten much sea food yet, most of its not safe down under the Palate. One day I'm gonna take you to Gongaga and you'll get a taste of real food. You ain't had chicken until you've had my ma's specialty. It's so spicy you think someone's lit a fire in your mouth!"

Aerith looked at him in confusion, "And that's supposed to be a good thing?"

"Course it is," Zack laughed.

Aerith glanced down at the cracked, painted tiles on the table top, "I don't know Zack, Gongaga's a long way away, and…the sky's scary."

"Well," Zack scratched the back of his head, "There's nothing ta be afraid of, and I'll be there right? I'm not gonna let anything happen ta my girl." He tried to cheer her up, but Aerith still looked pensive.

Her big green eyes fogged and shone brighter all at once, like materia, like mako without the spark of awareness beyond.

"Aerith?" Zack tried to share a bewildered look with Cloud, but Cloud had ducked his head, avoided eye contact as he was sharply reminded exactly what he didn't like about Aerith. As if feeling his discomfort with Her blessed people, the smell of the Planet's blood filled Cloud's nostrils again, overwhelming the restaurant's frying fish and spicy rice scent with its sickly-sweet one.

Aerith's hands splayed across the painted wooden boards in the wall, fingertips stretching as if she could hold the whole world between them if only she tried hard enough. Head cocked, a little frown wiggling between her brows. What was she doing? Was she listening to the…wood?

Icy fingers crawled up Cloud's spine as an echo of the Planet's voice brushed against his mind, carried upon the diluted Cetra blood in his veins. The wood spoke of home: of pine-lit boughs, diamond snow flaks cradled between the scales of acorns, the memory of squires and birds perched in its arms, and sharp saws that rent and spilt its sap upon the matted forest floor.

Cloud felt sick. He hadn't heard the whispers since Ryquendë had used his body as her vessel. He didn't want to hear them. It was an unwanted reminder of the blood –faint but there—that flowed through his veins, a kin to _hers,_ to a race he would never trust. He didn't want to look into the faces of the dead, or feel the Planet's pain knitted upon his skin like his own. He didn't want to hear the slow thoughts of stone, decipher the laugher of brooks, taste the sunlit in the dirt beneath his burrowing fingernails, smell the ancient grind of an elm's memory, or know the rhythm of a wolf's loping strides and panting breaths like his own heart beat.

_/Stop_/ The word rang in his head, and carried on the wings of his blood into the collective mind beyond.

Aerith's eyes snapped open, her lips parting in a gasp; and he knew, somehow, she'd heard his cry.

"Did you…?" There was hope and fear and a sadness so old and deep he thought for a moment that the green eyes belong to a wrinkled crone, bent and twisted with the labor of living. And loneliness. She doesn't know. Doesn't know there are others of her kind, cruel and devious as they might be. She's the last, she thinks, in a world of humans who can never understand what it means to be one of the Planet's chosen people. And almost, almost Cloud reaches across the table's distant to take her hand, but he doesn't. He smells rotting fruit like a perfume on her neck, and gazes into a face the near mirror of another's –one he would not touch now with a ten foot pole. He looks away, pretending he does not see her longing and hope like a wounded dove, wings broken but still struggling, struggling for the sky. And he tells himself its better this way. What would be the point in telling her of the witch? And if his suspicious of their relation is correct… No, it was better to let her continue believing she was the last of her kind.

Zack was looking between them, ignorant of what had just transpired, but eyes evaluating, the pull of his lips sharp even as they formed a smile. Whatever was going on behind the SODLIERs eyes was hidden away with a laugh. And he said, voice lose and confident as ever, "Well, if you don't want to go that's fine, Aerith." He gave her a sweet smile which she returned, and kissed her cheek. "Besides," he added, "I haven't been back myself in years, not since I made it into SOLDIER."

"Really?" Aerith asked. And she too had concealed any lingering pain from a crushed dream, focusing entirely on the one within her reach: Zack. "But don't you miss your parents, Zack? They must be worried about you."

Zack looked away, the smile slipping from his face. "Nah," he shrugged uncomfortably. "It's nothing," he tired to brush it off. "I just went back the once, right after I passed the SOLIDER exams; Shinra gives all the cadets a month leave before they start the enhancements, you know? So, I went back home to tell my folks, but…" He tried to hitch a smile on again but it was worn about the edges, and Cloud saw right through it. "It wasn't the same….it was right after the Gongaga Mako Reactor blew, and…well, I was Shinra wasn't I? I thought…well I wanted to be a hero and make my folks proud, but…it was like I was the enemy…" Zack trailed off.

Cloud watched Zack's face closely, wondering if the SOLIDER had ever spoken of this before, but doubting it. There were some price tags that were invisible to those who hadn't thrown all the chips down and blindly chosen to pay them off for the rest of their lives. "The price of the enhanced. Not quite human, not yet monster." He whispered to himself, but at Zack's sharp glance he thought the SOLDIER had heard. There were shadows he'd never really noticed in those bird-bright eyes before.

Zack was constantly surprising him with the complexity hidden under the SOLDIERs boyish grin. Zack had a talent with people Cloud had never seen before; he infected people with his positive energy and passion for life. It was easy to forget Zack had his own fears and disappointments as well; the SOLDIER was a master at burying his own pain behind brilliantly glowing blue eyes.

The afternoon had ended without any more incidents, but Cloud had walked away hoping he'd never have to see the half-Cetra again. She set his instincts on edge, and the similarities between Aerith and Ryquendë's appearance was uncanny.

When Cloud saw Vincent that evening, he mentioned his suspicious and the gunman confirmed what he'd already suspected: The body Ryquendë was so conveniently inhabiting had once belonged to a Cetra woman named Ifalna Gast who was Aerith's birth mother. Cloud had debated again the wisdom of telling Aerith, but had decided against it. It would breed that false hope again, and could only hurt to know the unnatural uses your dead mother's body had been subjected to. Ryquendë was not a woman worth knowing, or wishing to meet as the last link to your race. The witch would only hurt and use the girl if she became aware of Aerith's existence.

And then there was the matter of the witch's children, her twin sons born of a stolen body. What did that make them? Where they Aerith's half-brothers? Cloud had no idea, but Vincent had agreed with him that it was best Aerith were not informed –at least for now. She would never have been able to see the twins without Ryquendë becoming aware of her, and that was something they had to prevent even at the cost of the truth.

Vincent's voice pulled him back to the present. "I have something for you." Carefully Vincent pulled out a cloth-wrapped gift, settling it into Cloud's palm. "Sixteen is an important birthday."

Cloud unfolded the protecting cloth to reveal a necklace with a single razor-sharp Nibel Wolf fang. "What…?" Cloud ran the tip of a finger over the tooth's polished surface.

"I know it was not your first kill, but its from the first time we hunted monsters together. Do you remember? You were twelve, and we'd just marched to-"

"Rocket Town. Yes, I remember," Cloud breathed. "You kept it, all this time?" Wide blue irises started up at Vincent in amazement.

Vincent nodded and brushed Cloud's shoulder with his hand, unsure. Cloud grasped the retreating hand, latching himself onto Vincent's arm and burying his face in it. "Thank-you."

"It's a tradition among the Kagalbi to take a warrior hunting after his coming of age, which is sixteen for them. I do not have any traditions to pass down from my family, so I thought this would do."

Cloud laughed, pulling his face away. "Sometimes I think you're secretly half-Kagalbi."

"Chaos would like that." Vincent hummed, but there was a note of sadness it in.

The smile flickered off Cloud's lips, "You miss him."

Vincent was quiet a moment, then, "I hadn't realized how much…it is not forever." He amended.

"You still speak to him?" Cloud queried.

Vincent nodded.

"But it's not the same." Cloud finished. Sometimes it amazed Vincent how well Cloud knew him.

Vincent brushed his fingers through the wild flaxen locks, "It is not forever." A smile ghosted the corner of Cloud's mouth. "It's your birthday, you're supposed to smile." Cloud huffed, but the shadow smile bloomed into a grin.

…

Sephiroth flipped his PHS closed and readjusted his direction to the Night Before, a bar and stripper club in the section six slums. Zack was too drunk to even remember the name for such an illustrious institution. He already had a headache and he'd not even found the rabble of SOLDIERs. The Turks had reported three separate fights between civilians and SOLDIERs, one of the civilians had even landed in the hospital. This was exactly why he disapproved of SOLDIERs interacting with civilians in casual settings, especially when alcohol was involved.

When Sephiroth finally reached the seedy establishment, he was ready to kill something, and almost regretted passing off his Wutai command to Angeal. He'd been short on missions since the Peace Treaty's signing, and monster control couldn't satisfy his hungers.

Long-lashed eyes closed as a waft of remembered blood filled his senses, and the memory of battle rush tingled his nerves. Ah Wutai, sweet Wutai. But he'd allowed that delicacy to slip through his fingers, and as much as he longed for it, he could not bring himself to wholly regret the decision. The possibility of becoming dependent on the medications again, frightened him. He needed to be able to control himself without artificial aid; he couldn't afford to be so depended upon anything.

Sephiroth had not taken his pills in almost a year; he'd not needed them. But Wutai, and the promise of endless human kills and blood, was both temptation and his potential downfall. He dreamed the dreams of death, but he was not willing to chain himself to bloodlust again. The bloodlust existed and he embraced it, but it would not control him.

If Wutai had brought war against Shinra two months ago, he would've been on a transport to Wutai this very night, but it hadn't, and he had more to keep him here then just his sanity now. The long cold months of silence from Angeal, and the thorn of Genesis's absence, had worn him down. It had felt like he'd lost two friends and not just one. Angeal had spent months avoiding the inevitable confrontation, hiding himself in training and posturing as Shinra's honorable Commander.

Sephiroth had seen Angeal do this over and over again through the years. Usually it was Genesis who sparked the conflict and Angeal would pretend nothing was wrong, or gave a cold shoulder, depending on the offence, until the man had reached his limit and then he'd pull out the honor and pride card and wave it in Genesis and Sephiroth's faces. Sephiroth hadn't taken it in his usual stony silence, and it had ended badly.

Sephiroth wondered if he should be feeling more at the dissolution of Angeal's friendship, but it had been so long coming he felt only numb now. Genesis and Angeal had both left him, as he knew from the beginning they would. He didn't know why he'd ever thought, even for a second, it could have ended differently. He wished he could forget them, and all the little moments they'd spent together as friends, but they clung to his thoughts like leeches –or perhaps they were fragrant vines—it depended upon his mood.

It seemed impossible that his relationship with his father would end any differently, and yet it was different. Maybe it was the tie of blood between them, or the way Sephiroth knew –without a doubt—Vincent would never be the one doing the abandoning, whatever the cause. Sephiroth's bones knew Vincent's loyalty would never waver. The bond was forged with blood, and Sephiroth trusted in that, if nothing else.

A Turk shifted in the shadows as Sephiroth approached the Night Before. Sephiroth dismissed him with a flick of his hand; he'd deal with his SOLDIERs alone. As the door swung open he was assaulted by blaring music, flashing red lights, and the stench of sweaty bodies, piss, vomit, alcohol, and the distinct flavor of arousal, both male and female.

It only took a moment to locate the pack of Shinra SOLDIERs; they were the loudest and rowdiest of the bunch. Sephiroth pinched his lips. It appeared Fair had rounded up half the stationed SOLDIER units for his party.

Many of the SOLDIERs were cat calling and stuffing bills into the stripper's skimpy thongs, cropping a feel while they handed over their money. Sephiroth noted the grouchy managers and disgruntled faces of the scattered civilians; nobody was happy tonight but the drunken SOLDIERs and some of the dancers who didn't mind the SOLIDERs heavy hands for the extra Gil.

Sephiroth spotted Zack on a table top, waving a beer bottle about as he retold a story of his own heroics. It was extremely difficult for a SOLDIER First Class to consume enough alcohol to earn the term 'wasted,' either Zack had spent half his paycheck tonight, or he was exaggerating his own intoxication. Sephiroth wouldn't put it passed the young SOLDIER; he'd probably find it humorous.

Spinning red lights caught in yellow hair, turning it fire-orange. Sephiroth detoured from his original target and pulled out a rickety wooden chair at Cloud's table. The boy was nursing a beer and didn't look particularly excited by the generous female anatomies on display; he looked bored. Sephiroth paused to switch chairs after finding an unsavory pool of spilt liquid on his first choice, before joining the boy.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Cloud turned away from his contemplation of Zack's dramatics to regard the General. The boy didn't look surprised to find him there, but with his enhanced hearing and unimpeded senses, it wasn't a surprise. Cloud's blue eyes were clear, telling the truth of his minimal alcohol consumption.

Cloud grazed a look over the closest poll-dancing woman, her legs spread so far even the scrap of pink fabric cradling her cunt didn't leave much to the imagination. Cloud shrugged, "It was nice of Zack to invite me."

Sephiroth smirked, "But you'd rather be rolling around in the mud, sweaty and gritty with a sword in your hands?" A flush of embarrassment painted Cloud's fair skin. "Well, you won't have to endure much more. I'll send them all home in a few moments."

"Oh?" Cloud's brow creased in confusion.

"There have been some complaints. Super human strength and alcohol don't mix well."

"Right," Cloud twirled the beer bottle between his hands.

"How much mako do you have?" Sephiroth asked curiously.

"About a SOLDIER Second Class level, maybe a hair shy. I haven't gotten anymore treatments since the war ended." Cloud shrugged.

"Did you ever think of joining SOLIDER?" Sephiroth asked slyly.

Cloud smirked, "Nice try. I am not joining Shinra and you know it."

Sephiroth smothered a laugh. Surprising himself again by how much he found himself enjoying the boy's company, few people could earn even a smile from him. He'd spent quite a bit of time with Cloud over the last few weeks. He wasn't normally a social person, in fact he was decidedly anti-social, but he found himself training with Cloud most evenings which often led to a casual dinner and the quite, steady presence he'd grown accustomed to in Wutai.

He'd thought of the boy several times over the nine months of absence, but never allowed himself to pursue the thoughts. It would usually be flashes of memory when he was fucking, which was entirely inappropriate. Cloud was only sixteen and still a boy; he even looked his age, small, compact, with big-blue eyes.

Green eyes lingered on the delicate creamy skin, wondering if it was as soft as it looked, before shifting away again. His gaze tended to stray with his thoughts whenever he found himself in the boy's company. It was highly annoying since he couldn't just take what he wanted.

They were interrupted when Zack stumbled over to their table and slumped into a chair, unfortunately not the beer laden one. "Hey Sephiroth," The SOLDIER greeted, "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? Just hold a second and I'll grab you a drink. What do you like?"

Sephiroth waved Zack's offer off, "I am not drinking; it's pointless."

Zack winked, "I know, but nobody else has too."

"You're not really drunk are you?" Green eyes narrowed as they swept over the messy SOLDIER.

"Nah," Zack grinned, "A little tipsy I think. What about you Spiky? I think you've had that same beer for an hour." The First tried to wrestle the offending bottle out of Cloud's hands.

"I am fine Zack," Cloud swatted the SOLDIER away.

"No you're not. This is your big day and you're not even buzzed!" Zack grouched, looking like a pouty puppy.

"Zack," Cloud sighed, "I've had a great time, really. I'm just not really a…party person alright?"

Zack chewed on his lip, his eyes losing their teasing light. "Yeah I know, and I am sorry. I just wanted, I da know, you too cut loose a little buddy. You're always way too serious."

Cloud shifted uncomfortably, "This is the way I am Zack."

"And I like you," Zack ruffled his hair. "But you're just a kid too, ya know, you should be able to have fun and check-out hot girls." He waggled his eyes brows.

Cloud snorted.

"I'm serious!" Zack protested. "Fine laugh, but how do you expect to get laid if you won't even talk to a girl, huh?"

"And you have lots of experience in these matters?" Cloud teased.

"You got that right. You've seen my girl, now tell me where there's a hotter, sweeter, just plain perfect girl in all of Midgar." Cloud scratched his cheek, a frown digging between his brows.

Zack watched him with sharp, calculating eyes. "Look Spiky, I know something's up OK? Ever since I took you to meet Aerith you've been really weird about her, so tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," Clear blue eyes met Zack's boldly, and Sephiroth almost believed him, but there was no mistaking the nervous gestures of a moment before. Something was wrong.

Sephiroth had listened to his fair share of Zack's rambling speeches about his 'perfect girl' since the SOLDIER met the slum girl several months back; everyone who came within ten feet of the SOLDIER knew he'd met the prettiest girl in the world, an angel.

Zack leaned forward, gaze unaccustomly serious. "You don't like Aerith, no don't try and deny it, I'm not stupid. I saw it the moment you two met. I've talked to Aerith and she said she'd never met you before that day. I don't know how someone could not like her, so why don't you tell me what the problem is."

Cloud licked his lips. "It's not Aerith, I am sure she's a very nice girl, I just…she reminds me of someone, someone I'd rather forget."

Zack frowned, "Who?"

Cloud's eyes flickered over to green. "Ryquendë, the CNO President."

Sephiroth stiffened and a bewildered expression stole across Zack's face. "The CNO….President? Are you serious? They're like night and day! Aerith is gentle and sweet; no offence, but that woman's a bitch." Zack looked sheepishly at Sephiroth, "Sorry. I know General Rhapsodos is...and all…um." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I agree," Sephiroth smirked.

"Look," Cloud ran tense fingers through his hair. "It's not my place to say what they have in common, and really it shouldn't mean anything; it doesn't, I just…"

Zack scratched his chin. "You know, there is something a little…strange about Aerith sometimes, but nothing like that woman. She could be really creepy." Bright eyes caught Cloud's again, "I just want to know all right? I know the Turks are watching Aerith but nobody will tell me what's going on, and maybe its Aerith's place to tell me, but she hasn't and I don't think she will."

Cloud glanced at Sephiroth again, as if seeking direction, but Sephiroth was as anxious to know as Zack. He hadn't known the girl was being watched by the Turks, and the perceived connection between the witch and the girl intrigued him.

"Do you know what an Ancient is, Zack?" Cloud leaned closer to whisper.

"I've heard of them." Zack's voice matched Cloud's soft tones, "But aren't they extinct or something?"

Cloud shook his head, "No, Ryquendë is a full-blooded Ancient, the last of their kind. And Aerith, I sensed the blood in her too but not as strong, she only a half-blood."

"Aerith?" Zack gasped.

"Who else do you know who can grow flowers in Midgar?" Cloud asked, "The Ancients had a great affinity with growing things."

"But how do you know? What do you mean you 'sensed' it?"

Cloud bit his lip, eyes darting about them. "I know what to look for because of all the time I've spent with Ryquendë, and….I have the blood too, though it's diluted. I'm only a forth Cetra, but it makes it easier to feel others."

Sephiroth concealed his surprise. He'd know Cloud was a descended of the Ancient's, but he'd imagined it was many generations in the past.

"So, what, is this a bad thing?" Zack pressed. "I thought Ancient's were like angles or something?"

Cloud scoffed, "No more than any other person." He sat back. "I guess it doesn't really matter. It explains why the Turks are keeping an eye on her, they'd be interested in her from a scientific point of view, though I thought without Hojo…" he trailed off in thought.

"Hollander is just as invested in human experimentation." Sephiroth commented dryly.

"Right," Cloud sighed. "It doesn't mean anything Zack, I just, I get a wired feeling around her and it reminds me too much of Ryquendë."

Zack nodded slowly, "Alright, I get it. Thanks for telling me, you had me really worried there, Spiky." He joked lightly before adding, "Its just good to know. The Turks hanging around were making me nervous, and Aerith was so tight mouthed about it; it was unlike her."

Cloud nodded, "It's understandable she would be wary. Thanks for understanding though. I don't think I really want to be around her again, if that's all right?"

"I understand, don't sweat it buddy." Zack hitched a smile.

Their attention snapped back to the other SOLDIERs as a rowdy argument between two Thirds escalated into a fist fight, complete with broken bottle, smashed chairs, and shinning bruises.

The party staggered out of the trashed bar with a sizeable dent in the Gil padding their wallets. Sephiroth did not find it amusing, but the intoxicated SOLDIERs did, at least the ones not empting their guts in the alleyway. His headache had shot to migraine proportions.

Sephiroth escorted his men back to Shinra Tower, all those who didn't have homes and families off base, which was the majority. Many of the men were drunk enough not to censor themselves before their General, making it a very boisterous party.

Sephiroth was unaccustomed to being treated so unofficially by his SOLDIERs. There was always an invisible barrier between them, one that had not fallen even in the jungles of Wutai but did for a night of binging. He'd long ago become accustomed to the stares and whispers as he passed; conversations halted and necks craned to catch a glimpse of him. He hated it, but didn't know what to do with himself without it.

Robinson, a Third who'd severed under him in Wutai, reeled into him, slurring an apology. He'd pulled the man out of a flooding river when the bridge broke, he remembered. He'd saved the man's life. They'd both been covered in mud, smelling like a sewer, and soaked to the bones like drowned rats, but the man had stuttered –eyes shining with awe—as he thanked his General for saving him.

Robinson's clumsy fingers brushed off Sephiroth's sleeve where dried vomit clung to it; the black button-up cotton shirt horded the yellow sick. Sephiroth was so shocked the man was touching him he didn't even comment as one of the soberer SOLDIERs pulled their comrade away with another apology.

The man had touched him. He clearly remembered the man shrinking away from him when he'd pulled him from the river. Robinson had stumbled over himself to impose distance between himself and the feared and worshiped General, the Demon of Wutai. And now he'd touched Sephiroth as if it were nothing. Sephiroth wasn't sure if he was pleased at the inhibition or uncomfortable.

"Eww!" Zack sauntered over, smirking at the new stain. "That's gross, tough luck Seph."

Sephiroth blinked once. "What did you call me?"

Zack grinned innocently up at him, "Who me? Nothing, why, is something the matter General?"

"Hum." Sephiroth eyed the SOLDIER. Zack threaded his hands through black spikes, head leaning back into the hold.

"Almost there guys!" The First chirped, earning some gaffs and moans from the swaying SOLDIERs, "Next time we should get one of the fancy Turk rides –in black."

"What next time?" Cloud grumbled behind them.

"Hey, don't be a downer Cloud, and stop dragging your feet and get up here!" Zack tucked the smaller boy under his arm, conveniently leaning most of his weight against him. "Damn, what a night!"

"Zack! Get off," Cloud squirmed.

"Huh, did you say something, Spiky?" Blue eyes laughed down at the disgruntled boy. "So how does it feel, being sixteen?"

"Exhausting."

"Just the beginning, kid, you need to work up your party stamina. It's just like training, ya know, the more you practice the better you get. You don't know what you're missing over with the rebels-"

"CNO."

"Right, CNO. I bet they don't have parties like this, huh? Come on Spiky, you've got to join SOLDIER, you know you want to." Zack wheedled. "Hey Seph, help me out here."

Sephiroth scowled at the First, "Call me that again and you'll be addressing me as General or sir for the rest of your life."

"For the last time: I'm not joining Shinra, Zack." Cloud's voice carried the exasperation of constant hounding.

"Ah, but that's because you look at it all wrong. Don't think Shinra, think SOLDIER."

"It's the same thing, Zack.

"Sure it is, but you're looking at the negative side, we need to get you to see the positive." Zack grinned.

Cloud rolled his eyes.

They reached the Shinra compound, and the group began to break up. Zack headed off to help some sick friends to their beds, and Sephiroth made straight for the elevators. By the time the doors had finally been allowed to ping shut, he found himself stuffed into an over-crowed space stinking of alcohol, sweat, and vomit.

The men tumbled out on the various floors reserved for SOLDIERs, leaving only himself and a ruffled Cloud alone in the elevator. They both lived on the upper floors where security was a pain in the ass, but supposedly impenetrable. Sephiroth very much doubted this fact. He wasn't worried about security, only expedience; if someone was insane enough to break into his home, it would be the last thing they did.

Sephiroth glanced over at Cloud. The boy's head was leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Sephiroth's gaze trailed the soft curve of the exposed neck, lingering on the hints of collarbone the simple white T-shirt betrayed. The looked suited the boy: T-shirt and jeans. The indention of a necklace caught his attention. It was bound about the slender neck by a simple leather cord, but he'd never seen Cloud where anything more ornamental then his swords.

"What's this?" His hand had a mind of its own, or perhaps was merely fulfilling the very real thoughts in his head. Long-fingers dipped into the hollow of Cloud's throat and drew out the necklace. Cloud jumped with the touch, startled eyes staring up at him, but did not pull away.

Sephiroth frowned as his fingers played with the jagged edge of the fang. "A Nibel Wolf?"

Cloud swallowed, the motion brushing against Sephiroth's knuckles. "Yeah, Vincent made it for me. It was from our first hunt together." Pink tipped the boy's ears.

"I see." Sephiroth did not release the necklace or step back.

He could see the fine baby-soft hairs on Cloud's cheeks; the boy would never need to pick up a razor with the mako pumping through his veins. The pure-blue of the boy's irises imprisoned him, the trembling of Cloud's lips, the flicker of gold lashes. He wanted to take the boy here and now and damn the consequences. What was two years? It seemed such a small, insignificant measure of time when set against the heat of his desire. Sixteen was not so very young; it was not fifteen, not a child, just not quite an adult either. Not such a very great sin perhaps, but anything could be reasoned away when faced with a human's selfish desires.

The ping of the elevator door announcing Cloud's floor broke the moment. Sephiroth straightened up, not even realizing how far forward he'd leant; he could have kissed the boy with only a few more inches.

Cloud glanced at the waiting doors, hesitating, and Sephiroth spoke up against his better judgment. "You could come up for a drink if you like?" It was terribly clumsy, and Sephiroth winced inside. 'Come up for a drink' he mocked back, could he be any more obvious?

Cloud's hand toyed with the fang, "I'd like that." His soft, creamy voice filled the breathless silence.

Sephiroth merely nodded, reaching over the hit the 'close doors' button, and knowing he should retract the invitation while he still could. This was not going to end well.

It was a silent ride and a silent walk to Sephiroth's apartment door. Cloud had never been in his rooms, he recalled. When they were together it was either in public, his office, or he was visiting Vincent and Cloud in their rooms. He could smell the boy's nervousness as he swung the door shut behind them. Cloud took in the bare, Spartan apartment in silence.

Sephiroth didn't like spending time in his rooms. They were cold and reminded him of the labs he'd grown up in. He had a couch and a desk, the kitchen hosted a table and chairs, but they took nothing away from the stark white walls and carpet. He'd considered painting the walls at one time, but couldn't imagine them any color but white. The rooms were cold, cruel in their bareness, just like their master. He supposed the rooms suited him; he did have a tendency to hate the pieces of himself.

Sephiroth retreated into the kitchen, forcing the degrading thoughts back into their iron box. He wasn't going to have a pity-party now. He filled two glasses with ice, and when Cloud gave no preference, a generous serving of scotch.

Cloud was sitting stiffly on the couch when he returned, and the boy's hand trembled a little when he took the offered drink. Sephiroth joined him on the couch, not too far way, not too close, hoping it would help set the boy at ease.

He didn't know how to go about getting what he wanted now they were here, or even if he was damned enough to take it. He'd lost count of the number of whores he'd fucked, and more than a few one-night stands with 'respectable' members of society. But he'd always maintained a strict line between whom he fucked and who he worked with. He never bedded his fellow SOLDIERs or someone he called friend, and whatever else Cloud was, Sephiroth did consider him a friend. He respected the boy, and didn't want to hurt him; he still wanted to bed him though.

Cloud was examining his glass, lashes lowered, but then, as if feeling Sephiroth's regard, proud blue eyes snapped up to his. "You already know what I want, what I feel. I am not going to beg. Tell me why you asked me here, plainly, no games."

Sephiroth reached out, slowly tracing the blade of Cloud's cheekbone, loving the proud-fire smoldering in the unyielding blue depths. "I want you. I respect you Cloud, and I want you to know exactly what this is if you agree: it's only sex. I want to fuck you."

Cloud licked his lips, eyes straying to the loosened buttons of Sephiroth's shirt. "I understand."

"Hum," Sephiroth popped a few more buttons free before shrugging off the shirt, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. He tilted Cloud's chin up, "Do you really?"

Cloud broke the hold, standing up. He looked down at Sephiroth, slowly pulling his T-shirt off. "I've always known." And he turned to the beckoning dark bedroom.

Sephiroth followed the boy, but hesitated as he watched the slender body settled upon his bed. The boy looked so young and fragile, clad only in jeans, hairless chest of smooth pale skin exposed. How many whores had he fucked in that bed? It seemed a sin for the boy to even touch the sheets, as if their past would rub off on him. Sephiroth's feet carried him forward until he stood over the boy, wavering between yanking the boy up and telling him to run, run, run from the monster in the room, and crushing the youthful body into the bed and devouring it.

Cloud's gaze met his steadily, not shying away from the raw desires whipping about them, pulling them down, down into sin. Open eyes settled into his, holding, crystal-blue luminescent orbs in the night. Sephiroth made to speak, to pull away, to turn his back on this damning temptation. The moonlight shadowed the boy's face, turning his skin translucent as star-dust, and Sephiroth fell.

He captured the boy's mouth, sweet and yielding as ripened fruit. His body pressed the smaller one into the sheets; the silky-slide of his hair pooled down naked shoulders to cage them. Cloud's hollowed lips brushed into his collarbone, whispering his name into his skin. Sephiroth's fingers pulled at a jean button, yanking Cloud's pants and boxers off, before kicking at his own boots and leather pants. The flush of Cloud's cheeks captured his eyes, the boy suddenly shy and awkward before him. He stroked the tender flesh, imprisoning the delicate heat in a palm, and kissed the quivering lips.

He'd long since lost count of the parterres he'd taken in this bed, but he knew none of them had been like this. He wanted to savor the flavor of innocence, a bounty he'd never before indulged in, not seeing the appeal. But now he did, and found it so very different from a whore.

Cloud's mouth opened under his, tongue boldly learning Sephiroth's mouth as the boy's courage returned, and Sephiroth fiercely returned the kiss. Innocence and sweet inexperience were one thing, but he enjoyed his sex rough. His teeth drew blood and he moaned into the boy's mouth, loving the conflict upon his tongue, this ravaged innocence.

Sephiroth's questing hand found the stashed lubricant easily. "Spread your legs," his voice was dark with blood and lust.

Cloud pursed his lips for a second, defiance flashing in his eyes. Sephiroth nearly snarled with frustration, but trapped it between steel jaws. Cloud would not be ordered about. He'd let his temperance for dominance overrule what he knew of the boy.

"Cloud, I need to prepare you." He explained, making sure to keep the equality of their positions evident in his voice.

Cloud was not a whore he'd bought, or a social climber ready to spread his/her legs for the great General Sephiroth. Cloud was….he didn't know; only that Cloud was not like any of the others he'd fucked. It was a frightening and exhilarating thought.

Cloud finally opened his legs, hands twitching nervously on his thighs. Sephiroth's body slid over Cloud's, sweaty skin grazing skin; long fingers seeking between the boy's legs. The slick velvet of Cloud's entrance sucked his fingers deep within, the tightness of a virgin body hither too unknown. His pulse pounded as Cloud's startled gasps and breathy moans slipped past bitten lips, so unlike a whore's practiced cries. He cupped the sharpness of a jaw, tracing the flushed lips with a calloused thumb before claiming them again.

Sephiroth looked into passion-bright eyes as he entered the boy, red-kissed lips softened in wonder and a whimper of pain, but the boy did not ask him to stop, even as he pushed himself deeper, deeper, as much as the young body could take. His arms trembled as he held himself above the boy, coltish legs wrapped about his waist, gently holding him; so very different from a whore's impatient urging. Cloud's eyes were owlishly huge as the slender chest rose and fell, heart beating like a bird's. Thump-thump-thump, filling his ears, reminding him painfully of the boy's youth. So young, so beautiful. His hands cupped the curve of slender hips, pulling out before slamming back in again. The boy let out a small cry, and he kissed it, devoured it as he took. So beautiful, so new. He pulled away from the kiss to watch the boy's face as he fucked him. Tender neck arched up, hands fisting in the sheets, not quite daring to fist in silver hair. So delicate, so fragile, this creature beneath him with the glowing sapphire eyes. He growled, taking more, never releasing the boy's eyes. It was just how he'd imagined it, no; it was nothing like, for he could never have dreamed something so beautiful, so foreign.

"_Sephiroth_," the boy gasped, writhing below him, begging to be taken harder.

Yessssssss.

He broke away from the eyes, suddenly finding them too intense, too seeing; the boy shouldn't look at him like that, never. He latched onto the milky throat as distraction –there had been too much awe in those eyes. He took him harder, pushing the virgin body to its limit; he should be gentler, but he couldn't.

He tasted the salt of the boy's sweat, the sweetness of a bared throat. It wouldn't be long now; the body was so tight, so yielding beneath him, so giving. His hair flew wildly about them as he slammed into the boy, again and again, drawing sharp cries from those panting lips. He didn't know if it was pleasure or pain behind the cries, but was past caring. His teeth sank into a shoulder, tasting blood, hells. It was too good, too much. Hard thighs tightened about him, pulling him deeper, urging him to fill and mark and claim. Fingers sank into supple flesh; he let out a groan, pulled from the pit of his belly. A tide of pleasure rocked him, shaking him like skeletal leaves in a winter gale, the ecstasy so intense it bleed into agony.

His bones shook and he collapsed onto the boy, still buried within him. He gasped for breath, trying to remember if he'd cried out or not. He never spoke during sex, but he thought he might have said 'Cloud' when he came. He brushed it off, finally rolling off the smaller body. He shouldn't have let himself go like that, he was so much stronger and larger then Cloud.

He rose up on an elbow, brushing sweaty hair off his face, and ran his eyes over Cloud. The boy hadn't come yet, still leaking and ready with Sephiroth's seed staining his inner thighs. He was relieved to see no blood mixed with his cum. He was suddenly struck again by the delicacy of Cloud's body, so small lying next to his, so unsure in the white-moonlight casting shadows on his face. The boy made a nervous movement towards his arousal, as if uncertain if it was allowed. Sephiroth caught the reaching hand, deftly entwining their fingers. He'd never helped a partner find release before; if they hadn't come when he'd fucked them he'd always thought it was their problem. But Cloud was…different, so different. He wasn't sure he wanted to pursue those thoughts.

He settled himself between Cloud's still parted legs, enjoying the startled gasp he earned. Tremors shook the slender thighs beneath his hands as he adjusted them, looping them over his shoulders. He lowered his mouth to take the boy in, his nose buried in the smoky-musk of the boy's arousal. It was only a moment's work to finish the boy; he was more than ready. Sephiroth swallowed down the ash-bitter release, his tongue running over his mouth, pondering the new experience.

"Sephiroth," Cloud gasped again, and Sephiroth rested his chin on the smooth strength of Cloud's belly, looking up into watching glowing eyes.

"Hum?" He asked lazily. Cloud licked his lips, and Sephiroth wanted to kiss him again, so he did.

He realized with a jolt that he wanted the boy again; he never wanted a partner twice. But having Cloud had only served to make him want the boy even more now that he knew what it was like: the tightness of his body, the sound of his moans, the taste of his mouth, and the way his eyes gleamed like burning gems in the darkness, never looking away as he took him.

He was hard again, but carefully shifted away from the boy, knowing Cloud would be sore enough tomorrow and couldn't endure another round. Cloud shifted after him, mutely settling his spiky-soft head on Sephiroth's shoulder. Sephiroth stiffed reflexively, unaccustomed to this type of intimacy, a gnawing worry blooming in his chest. He'd told the boy it was only sex, and nothing had changed.

Cloud, feeling his discomfort, made to rise, "Do you want me to go?" Brilliant blue eyes searched his face.

"No, its fine." His hand buried in the golden head, pulling it back down. He didn't know why he did it, just that it felt…right.

Cloud's hand pressed against his chest, directly over his heart. Sephiroth swallowed uncomfortably, but slipped an arm about the slender waist, unwilling to acknowledge his discomfort with the implied intimacy of the boy's gestured. He'd told the boy it was only sex, and it was, but it wasn't, it wasn't even close.


	11. Shinra's Folly, Part I

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 11: Shinra's Folly, Part I

The pure scent of fresh snow whipped about Chaos, carried on the slap of a mountain wind. His claws dug into the freshly fallen blanket, reaching the rock layer beneath. A wolf bayed in the white valley below, another answered, and then their gangly shapes burst from the dark forest of firs. Chaos tracked the hunt from where he crouched far above on a rocky crevasse. The doe screamed as a wolf's steel jaws clamped her rear, another wolf snapped at her fragile neck as the deer stumbled, weighed down by the wolf's pack-mate. Blood stained the snow, and it greedily drank it up. The wolf pack snarled and fought over the downed feast. Finally the head bitch claimed the choicest piece of steaming meat and trotted away, prize clenched tight between her jaws, tail arrogantly high in victory.

Chaos straightened and turned to walk lazily across the treacherous heights. The powdered snow dusted ancient glaciers, and brittle, old ice creaked under Chaos's metal boots. It was the first snowfall of the season, earlier then was custom, but this high above the world it was nothing unexpected.

The smell of the Nibel Mountains had not changed, not in two thousand years, but there was little enough else as he remembered it. He'd wandered the place of his birth, searching for any forgotten signs of his people. His feet took him along the paths of youth, only to discover they had long since vanished back into the land. He'd flown up to the rock crevices he'd once called home. Not even an echo of his people remained; even the ageless caves –where he'd slept back-to-back with his brothers, woken to the salty richness of his mother's cooking meat, held his baby sisters in his arms– had not remained untouched. Harsh mountain winds had worked their power, and slides of mud and derby covered all that was left of the home he'd been born and raised within. There was nothing left, and nothing these empty mountains could give him, but still he lingered on.

A year since the war had ended; a year since he'd lost the purpose he'd so clung to. He had endured much to seek his revenge upon human-kind and Shinra, but he'd reached The End, finally. He'd wondered, when Vincent found the stillness within his own vengeance at Hojo's death, if he too would ever experience such release. But now he did, and it brought him no joy. He was done, done with war and hate and revenge. He would take no more human lives in payment for the past. The Planet had molded him from his own hate and bloodlust and made him into her WEAPON, but now the fist of memories that drove him in the youth of his despair had been sucked dry. He didn't know why he'd returned here, to the mountains of his birth. Maybe he wanted some atonement, some peace, wanted to touch the past, but it was gone. He finally understood and accepted that. Nothing could bring them back or make him what he once was. He was WEAPON now, and he would never meet his family, his people, in Paradise. And he accepted this, even as he hated it.

All that was left of his people were his memories, not even a whisper of their lives remained upon the hard shell of the Planet's breast, even the signs of their existence had been washed away. He'd come to the end and found he'd never left the beginning. He felt old. Every one of his two thousand years weighed in his bones like iron. The words he'd spoken to Vincent at the human's own cusp of vengeance, echoed back at him, full of false confidence. Vincent had felt a measure of this when he'd killed Hojo, but the human had found the strength to move on, had found something worth living for.

Chaos's head tilted, eyes staring straight into the hazy winter-sun. He wished he could climb up into its heat and envelop it, let its fire burn through him, filling him. He could tear down the world, soak it in every last drop of human blood, and it would bring him no relief. It would not give him back all that was stolen from him.

The Planet shifted in the back of his mind, restless, stinging like a trapped wasp. He felt the constant ache of her breast, like a mother with no babe to take her leaking tits. It grew worse with every passing year, month, day. Her blood was being leeched from her, slowly, painfully, a long death like the drip, drip of a slit wrist spilling a man's life upon cold, white tiles.

She whispered of her WEAPONS, but as of yet withheld her hand, this last defense. Not yet, but soon, soon she would release them. She was not bred for war and violence; she would defend herself, but only at the last. Slow she was to rise, like the oozing of molasses. Years, decades, they had drilled into her flesh, using her mako-blood for their petty reasons, befouling her girdle, the pureness of her air, and slaughtering the gentle green of her remnant.

Chaos ignored her. His heart was cold and shut to her cries. He bent, scooping up the soft snow and compressed it in his fist, before letting it fall again like a stone.

He would find nothing here; he'd known it for months, and yet he lingered on. In the bleakness of his existence, when all the harsh comforts of revenge had been stripped from him, he asked himself what he had left to live for. Why not crawl back into the numbness of the Lifestream? Run away again. But he couldn't. He'd already learned that there were some things too vast to outrun, and you only ended up ensnared in a bottomless pit. He'd find no peace in the Lifestream, no relief. He'd carry the emptiness with him back into its cold embrace. He was stronger than this, and wiser; running never solved anything. So he had sat himself down, when the pain of loss had been crippling, and searching himself for his reason to live, his anchor to life. It had not been so hard to find, but what he'd found had shocked him. Vincent, or course, was the answer, but it did not come in the form he'd expected. His companion, his not-quite-human brother, had shifted into something else, something more, and it frightened him.

Chaos saw his own perverse desires laid bare before him. Little things he'd never connected in the past: the thrill of holding Vincent in his arms as they flew, the tingling he sometimes felt at Vincent's deep voice, the anticipation he'd experience when they met face-to-face after a long separation during the war. He wanted Vincent, his human. There was no other word for what Vincent already was but _His_. It seemed impossible to know Vincent more then he already did, but he supposed it was only a different knowing, no deeper then what they already shared. He wanted to claim Vincent as he'd once dreamt of taking a mate –a female—but Vincent was no female.

Such desires were unnatural within the Kagalbi, unheard of. So this then, was the final proof of the truth he'd long shied away from: he was no longer Kagalbi. He was WEAPON, Other, belonging no-where, and to no-one. He was alone, the last of his kind. But he would belong to Vincent if he could. He would take him as his mate, and call him home and clan and kin.

But he was a coward, and so he lingered here in these forsaken mountains among dead memories. Vincent would never return his desires, would never chose him, why would he? Vincent still longed for his Lucrecia –a woman—and in all the time Chaos had spent inside his former host's mind, he had never discerned a desire for another male. It was not unknown among humans too take another of their own sex as a mate, but it was not common, and more than a few frowned upon the practice. Chaos did not believe Vincent to be among those who desired men, but then, he had not believed himself among them either not so long ago.

But he had dallied here long enough, mopping and worrying like a human. It may be that Vincent would not choose him back, but it was not in Chaos's nature to be so cowardly and craven. It was not the way of the Kagalbi. They spoke their minds without apology, and when it came time for a male to court his mate he offered his suit boldly, even knowing he might be turned away. Chaos may no longer be wholly Kagalbi, but that was how he was born and bred, and he wanted no other way. He'd dwelt among humans too long, and had begun to act as they did. It was time he remembered himself and the pride of his people.

His head turned east, to Midgar and Vincent, like a wolf catching a scent upon the wind. He knew what he wanted now; if these months of separation had given him nothing else, at least they had shown him this. He would face his desired mate in the way of his people, boldly, without apology, and without the sly words and sugary eyes of human courting. His wings snapped out, powerful thighs bunched as he squatted, poised to leap, and with one powerful pump of his wings he sprung into the air. He caught an upward draft easily and turned east, to Midgar.

….

The scent of his human and the every-present but faint trail of their mind-link guided him from the summer-blue skies. Winter had not touched the southern, low-lying city of Midgar. Heat still kiss its glass and asphalt skin, baking it in late summer's temperatures. Chaos could taste the stench of waste and filth, so overpowering he had to force back bile. The slum streets would stink of sickly-sweet rotting foods, their alleys and gutters filling with sewage. Flies would be thick as fir over the piles of dog and human shit.

Shinra turned a blind eye to the mess they'd created under the Plate. No proper waste disposal and too many homeless humans with only an alleyway to call home, had made the slums a breeding ground for not only crime, but disease as well. In the poorest areas they didn't even have pluming, which meant no flushing toilets and only the streets to dump their waste in. It was a hive for disease and death, as well as scavenging monsters. And Shinra ignored it all, only sending teams of SOLDIERs down every so often to clean out the monsters. Poverty like that didn't bring in any Gil. Those people weren't buying mako energy to light their homes or fill the cars they couldn't afford. They offered nothing to Shinra's pockets, so they received nothing in return. It was a harsh world under the Plate, packed with thieves and gangs and pimps, plenty ready to 'help' if you had something to pay with. A young, pretty body would take you from the lap of one hell into another.

Vincent was not in Shinra's Tower, instead Chaos found him in one of the large mansions that dotted the Plate, much like the one they'd taken Hojo from the night they'd killed him. Chaos perched himself upon the slanted roof-top, eying the garden crawling with expensively dressed humans and a good number of Turks. Sniffing the stale air, he concluded the garden was an elaborate fake. Life did not grow beneath the belching black-clouds of the Mako Reactors. The garden was very well done, no doubt costing a pretty Gil; the grass almost looked real –if a little too green.

Chaos cocked his head as he spotted Vincent among the milling humans. The gunman had abandoned his red cloak and battle leathers, and wore a tailored black suit. The golden gauntlet was nearly completely swallowed by the jacket's sleeve. Vincent looked good, but Chaos did not like what the change betrayed of Vincent's position here in the heart of Shinra. The marble-white face was strained; Chaos easily picked out the faint lines of Vincent's stress by the stiff way he held himself within the tight confines of his unaccustomed outfit.

A balding man was speaking to Vincent. The man's waistcoat button's straining against his girth, sweaty face making his hairless head shine. Chaos recognized the man as Heidegger, Head of Public Safety i.e. the Shinra army and civilian policing forces. His claws flexed as the beady little eyes ran over _his_ human, greedy and full of a light Chaos did not care for. It was not the thought of sharing Vincent with another that shot sparks of lightning-adrenalin through his veins –it was not the nature of Kagalbi males to be jealous; they were used to sharing their female mates with others—but his protective instincts were on fire. Vincent was not a prized sow for this fat fool to lust over. He was Chaos's to protect, even if his human didn't know it yet.

Chaos dropped down, silent as a hunting cat, from the roof. He had half a mind to stalk over to this bloated human with all the glory of a Kagalbi going to war for his mate, but he'd lived among humans too long not to be aware of the damage such an action could entail. Vincent was on a peace mission here, he knew, and Chaos wouldn't destroy all the work Vincent had no doubt suffered for this one easily crushed human. So, he did something he rarely lowered himself too: he conformed –or as much as was possible– to human sensibilities. His wings tucked into his body, disappearing seamlessly and leaving him feeling naked as he always did in their absence.

Maybe he should wait and seek Vincent out alone, but he was not going to hide himself from these humans. He had too much pride. He'd endured the stares and curled lips of the rebellions' humans; he could walk into this gathering of Shinra with his head held high. He was not human and proud of it.

Head's turned as he stalked passed, a wave of shadow and the smell of flame. They parted before him: mouths gapping as they stumbled away, the women's high-heels catching in the fake grass, the size of their pearls matching their frightened eyes, the men spluttering and stuttering for 'security.' He was unconcerned. The Turks were alerted to his presence and surged forward from where they'd lingered in the shadows. Chaos never faltered. More than one of the humans' delicate sensibilities were overloaded and women screamed and fainted at the sight of a 'monster' in their mists. He smirked as he watched a Turk, with the fine hair of the Wutai, push the young President back and pulled out a handgun. Rufus was no push over though, and had his own gun out just as fast.

Vincent watched his approach, a small smile in his eyes even as they creased in worry. Chaos imagined his human would be shaking his head at him if they were in private. Chaos smiled, a fanged dangerous smile, one he'd used in Death's face, and shifted his gaze to the red-faced man at Vincent's side. He smelt piss as the man stumbled back, and his smile deepened.

Vincent did shake his head then, just the faint shadow of movement, but he couldn't stop his lip twitching. The Turks all had their weapons out and ready –guns, shurikens, gloved fists, electric rods, and even a katana– as they looked to their leaders for the command to bring him down. As if they could, he scoffed.

Vincent stepped forward to greet him, waving a hand at Rufus, though there was little hope of the President actually calling his Turk's off. "Chaos, what are you doing here?"

"I was bored." Chaos deadpanned, enjoying the slow blink of Vincent's eyes.

/_Unbelievable_/ Vincent sighed fondly before Chaos felt the sharp spear of Vincent's worry in his mind. /_You should not have come here_/ Vincent looked back at the hard-faced Turks.

/_Introduce me, my human. And then we shall leave this gathering of wit-less men and speak privately_/

Vincent hummed. _/Very well, but Gaia only knows what a mess this is going to cause_/

/_Thou worries too much_/

/_I have to do the worrying for two_/ Vincent grumbled, but it was not unkindly.

"Valentine, what is the meaning of this?" Rufus demanded, drawing them from their private minds and back to the tense, shaky crowd.

"President Shinra, Turk Tseng, Reno, Rude may I introduce General Chaos of the CNO." Chaos smirked; Vincent had not bothered to introduce him to the other 'important' executives. It was a mark of Vincent's regard. He signaled these four, and only these four, out as worthy of Chaos's interest.

Chaos looked over the men Vincent had pointed out. Rufus he knew of course, though he'd never seen the young man in person. Fair-haired with eyes as slick and cold as a mountain glacial. You could cut yourself on the angle-hair of this lovely face, hiding a sword-sharp mind behind aloof, snow-blue eyes. The tall Turk at Rufus's right-hand was their Second in Command, Tseng. The Wutai blood was sharp in his veins. He wore his raven-soft hair in a tight high-tail, accentuating dark, slanted eyes deep with cunning and cleverness. This one saw clearly and far as a hawk. The last two stood a ways apart. Rude was like a silent, dark mountain whose eyes were hidden behind the reflecting glass of his shades. He wore black leather gloves, signally his fists as his primary weapon. Reno was slouching, electric rod tapping against his shoulder, and at first glance would appear nothing but an unkempt youth with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Plate, but Chaos's quick eyes noted the coiled strength camouflaged in lazy bones. The Turk could pounce at the mere flick of a wrist, swift as a cougar. And pale-green eyes were shrewd and calculating as they sized Chaos up in turn, before one flaming brow rose in a cocky challenge.

"That crazy experiment of Hojo's?" The evaluating silence was broken by a blustering block of a man who had too much money to learn when to hold his tongue.

The Turks tensed as one, anticipating a retaliation that never came. Chaos grinned fangs at the stupid human. Rufus cut in as the man whitened, his voice as smoothly arrogant as Chaos knew it would be. The young man had not yet outgrown a belief in his own self-importance, bred from a life of entitlement as the President's son and coupled with the arrogance of youth, it begged for a hard lesson in mortality and the dangers of the human ego. "Hojo denied any hand in this creature's creation." The superiority radiated from the words like pheromones off a bitch in heat.

"What is the meaning of your presence here?" Rufus demanded. Chaos heard the faint creaking of Tseng's hand about his gun's grip. At least the Turk had enough sense, or perhaps humility, to not insult the monster in their mists. Rufus was very brave, hiding behind his Turks.

Chaos deliberately turned his back on the lot of them. He doubted they would understand half the implications of this movement (they were not raised in the pride and honor-bound culture of the Kagalbi), but he hardly cared. He'd already grown tired of them. He walked languidly back over to Vincent, hearing Rufus's annoyed commands at his back as the tittering started up in the gathered humans; they had found their courage now they were no longer the center of his focus.

"I say bring a cage, and get this thing locked away!" "The Science Department will know how to deal with it." "What's the President thinking? We need to call reinforcements, get the SOLDIERs in here." "We're leaving, come on dear. We aren't going to be savaged by a beast!" The murmurs and shuffling moved through the crowd. If Rufus wasn't so worried about starting a war with the CNO, Chaos was sure he'd have ordered his Turk's to restrain him. Chaos was unconcerned.

Vincent's lips were still tight with worry. /_What art thou so concerned with, my human? They cannot harm me_/

Blood-red eyes met his, holding shadows /_Do not underestimate Shinra, Chaos, or the lengths they will go. They may not be able to harm you _this time, _but I want you to leave before they start plotting ways to stuff up their bruised egos. Rufus will not be pleased by your dismissal, nor the ease with which you penetrated their security_/

Chaos shrugged, still aware of the increasingly fervent murmurings about them. /_I shall not linger over long then, but I would speak with you_/ Chaos wished he could run his hand through the silky black mane, but was acutely aware of the unblinking eyes upon them. /_Come with me, now. I know thou wishes to be free of this place_/

/_I cannot leave_…/ But Chaos knew Vincent was tempted.

/_I shall take thee to thy quarters in the metal Tower. Thou canst leave these sycophant humans for today_/

Vincent caved. /_Hold a moment_/ and he turned back to the President who was watching them both with narrowed eyes. Rufus did not like being ignored. He still has much to learn, Chaos thought. "General Chaos will be leaving, Mr. President. If you will excuse me, I will escort him safely from the grounds."

Rufus opened his mouth to respond but Tseng was already leaning in, staying the words. He whispered something in the young man's ear, and after a moment Rufus seemed to concede to his Turk's advice. "Very well, Valentine, but we will speak of this later."

Vincent nodded his head stiffly, and with a firm grip on Chaos's arm, steered the bemused demon away. When they had escaped the confines of the garden, and shaken off the lingering eyes of hidden Turks, Chaos let his wings free to breathe the air.

/_That was very foolish_/ Vincent chastised him again.

Chaos was growing tired of Vincent's over concern, as he saw it; he rarely became annoyed with his human, but this was one of those times. He forced back the sharp words on his tongue, not wishing to argue this day of all days. Instead, he looped an arm about Vincent's waist, overbalancing him with a tug and sending the human's lean body against his chest. /_Enough talk_/ Vincent barely got a fistful of feathery-hair before Chaos sent them soaring into the air.

He took them high, breaking through the fog of dirty air girdling Midgar, and into the clear skies. He rolled lazily onto his back, letting Vincent reposition his hands for a better hold. Vincent was scowling down at him now, clearly not amused. Chaos smiled coyly up at him before turning them over again, and letting the sold weight of Vincent's body settle into his arms. Vincent was panting in his ear; he could feel his human's heartbeat striking against ribs, hard and fast. Vincent's legs scrambled to get a grip on his as the gunman growled his displeasure in Chaos's ear.

/_Thou art in a foul mood_/ Chaos commented, keeping his disappointment concealed. /_Thou used to enjoy flying not so long ago_/

Vincent stilled, letting his muscles relax slowly, arms loosening their hold to something more natural, and entrusting Chaos with his weight. /_I am out of practice_/ And the words disclosed so much.

/_Forgive me_/

/_There is nothing to forgive_/ Vincent side-stepped.

/_That is not true or thou wouldst not be angry with me_/ Chaos countered.

Vincent let the silence drag on a long moment. Chaos's wings beat a steady rhythm about them as the wind wormed its chilly fingers into their clothes and across bare skin. Chaos pressed his human closer, letting the natural heat of his body warm the other, and was relieved when Vincent did not pull away.

/_I am not angry_/ Vincent finally said /_but it was a long time. Almost a year, Chaos. I do not understand why you left, fully, or why you have come back_/

/_I left because I found The End, but could not accept it until I had traveled to the beginning again_/ Chaos replied slowly /_I returned…it is not something I shall speak of here_/ He felt Vincent's curiously, but would not break this silence yet. He wanted to make his desires known of even ground. He had all the power in the sky; Vincent could not refuse him properly if he was clinging to Chaos's body for his life.

/_I want you to find peace_/ Vincent mind-brush was a like a whisper's kiss, not sexual, but no less powerful.

Chaos shivered in its aftermath. /_Have you?/_ He countered.

Vincent hummed in his mind, the only answer the demon would receive. Some things were beyond words and some questions had no real answers. He felt the contentment in his human's mind, a balance to the sinister shadows ever present, always nipping at the corners of Vincent's spirit. Peace? Perhaps it was impossible for two such beings as themselves, but whatever Vincent had found, it was enough to keep the memories and darkness at bay.

Chaos took them back down again, hating the way the polluted air crawled over his flesh like spiders. Vincent's mind-touch echoed his distaste with the soiled air and land; it was not fit for human habitation.

The rooms Shinra had provided for the CNO Representative were lavish, gaudy, but did conveniently host a balcony –though why anyone would want to take in the Midgar air, Chaos could not fathom. He steered them with exact precision onto the terrace, gently setting Vincent upon his feet again, and reluctantly releasing his grip. The glass double doors were locked from within, but it was only a moment's work for Vincent to pick the lock. Heavy gold curtain's framed the doors, and Chaos had to duck to miss the swinging tassels.

The demon chuckled as he examined the room revealed, "The witch would be envious."

"Indeed," Vincent slid out of his black jacket, laying it gratefully across the back of a white-leather sofa and loosening his tie.

"Dost thou attend such gatherings regularly?" Chaos asked as he bent to examine a mako powered fire-place.

"Unfortunately," Vincent wandered through the decoratively arched doorway separating the sitting and dining rooms from a spacious kitchen. Chaos followed, enjoying the change from plush-white carpet to stone strong beneath his feet. Vincent's metal-toed shoes chinked against the stone tiles as he retrieved glasses and opened a liquor cabinet, silently allowing Chaos to choose his own poison.

"Mead?" Chaos enquired, not the least familiar with these human liquors despite living amongst soldiers for over two years.

"No," Vincent shook his head. "Whisky?" He pulled out a dark-amber brew and poured a small taste into Chaos's glass.

Chaos sipped, letting the harsh drink roll on his tongue a moment. "No."

Vincent hummed. "Perhaps a wine?"

"Wine would suffice," Chaos agreed.

"Sweet, dry, dark…" he trailed off at Chaos's blank look. "Try this," he popped the cork off a dusky beverage, "not too dry." Vincent brought out two fresh wine glasses and poured them both a drink.

Chaos sampled the new flavor. It reminded him of deep forests where the trees press so closely together they suck out the air and hide the sun behind their interwoven boughs. The rich, arid wine lacked the heavy bitter-sweetness of mead, but it would do well enough.

"Tell me," Chaos began as he settled himself upon a low-backed chair once their drinks had been fixed. His wings rustled sulkily behind him, disliking the strange draping, but it was better than the wing-back chairs nestled about the unnatural fire. "What news?"

Chaos had cut himself off entirely from the human world since the war ended, except for the occasional mind-touch from Vincent. His human had promised to inform him of any disturbing developments with the witch, but they had both agreed she'd not needed such constant observation since securing a mate and growing fat with child.

"The witch has born two boys, twins." Vincent's gauntlet began shredding the offed tie in pleasure, and Chaos smirked. "It is going on five month since I was in the capital. Her husband is a good balance for her, though. He's not completely enthralled and does have a mind of his own, especially when it comes to leading his army and the raising of their children. You should have seen him when she was pregnant. His hissy fits would get even the witch to stop plotting; he'd make her nap every day like an old woman." Chaos grunted a laugh. "And she was obsessive about her children the last I saw. She never wanted them out of her sight which slowed her down considerably, but it's nothing to complain about. The more she has occupying her cunning mind, the better."

"I agree." Chaos said. "And what of thy human child, did he not accompany thee on this mission?"

A secret smile ghosted Vincent's lips. "Yes, and he is well…better then well." Chaos raised a brow. "Cloud and my blood-son Sephiroth, have become…friends."

"I was under the immersion they already were." There was something hidden beneath the words, but Chaos did not know either of his human's sons well enough to read its meaning.

"More than friends," Vincent clarified.

Chaos studied Vincent keenly, "And this pleases thee? Thy sons as lovers?"

Vincent frowned slightly. "They are not blood related, and never looked upon each other as brothers."

"I see," Chaos said slowly, unsure if he should reword the question again, but it did not seem necessary and was of little purpose. Vincent may have no distaste for his own son's –both males– intimacy, but that revealed little of his own desires.

"You think it perverse?" Vincent challenged, and there was a cold light in his eyes, a furnace-fire of challenge smoldering beneath the surface. Chaos had never received such a look form Vincent, and rarely seen him so openly enraged about anything unless it was Hojo.

"No," he answered quietly, meeting the frozen-inferno calmly. "There is no perversion, not to me." He shrugged, "They are not blood-kin, and it would not offend me if they were. The Kagalbi mate as they love. I have seen an uncle court his niece, a half-brother his sister, though such unions rarely occur when children are raised alongside each other. Only once did I see a brother marry his sister, and they had been raised in different clans from birth, but it did happen."

Vincent's anger was doused as quickly as it had sprung, and his brows had crept up slightly, the only sign of his surprise. "That is…"

Chaos's claws pierced his leg armor, pulling up a trickle of blood as he braced himself for Vincent's revulsion. The Cetra had certainly been horrified with the whole idea. They had not been so pure in the end though. After the Great War and the destruction of the Cetra civilization, those few who remained had intermarried time and again to keep the lines unsullied by human blood.

Vincent licked his lips, his eyes falling to mark the thin lines of blood sliding down the smooth leather of Chaos's armor. "It is not my place to judge your people, Chaos." He finally answered softly. "I am sure there are many human practices you find…different."

Chaos relaxed, letting his claws flex and fall idly back into his lap. Silence fell between them, but it was not uncomfortable. It brought Chaos back to the hardest times of the war when Vincent and he would sit like this in quite companionship, both accustomed to, and welcoming the comfort another presence can offer without words.

Chaos did not know how long they sat sipping their wine, letting the strange sizzling of the unnatural fire, the ticking of a garnish clock, and the familiar heartbeat of the other lull them down the mysterious paths of the in-between time; where all time is forgotten in the twisting tunnels of one's thoughts.

Finally Vincent broke it, "Why did you come back?" Only curiously rang in the question, but that made it no easier to answer. Vincent continued before he had a chance. "And in such a way? It's not like you. You do not like entangling yourself in the affairs of humans, yet you did today, and loudly." The gunman sighed. "I don't want you to think I did not wish for you to…" He shook his head, letting his words trail off.

"Did you think I would not return?" Chaos asked, with no accusation.

"A year is a long time, but no. I knew we would meet again, only I had begun to think…"

"Yes?"

"That you meant to sleep, perhaps fall back into the Lifestream. When I saw you last you looked tired and I thought…. I do not think I can die –not of old age." Vincent voiced a fear Chaos suspected had been growing and festering within for a long while. And it was indeed something to fear as Chaos well knew. "So, I believed we'd meet again, but perhaps not in this lifetime of men."

/_I should not have left/_ Chaos poured his regret into Vincent, wishing he'd never hurt him, but knowing it was unavoidable. He'd needed the time away. Vincent was right, he had been tired; a heavy exhaustion reaching passed his muscles and tendons and into his very spirit.

/_But you are back_/ The ghost of a smile on Vincent's usual serious face always made Chaos think of a sun bursting through pregnant rain-clouds.

/_Yes_/ And Chaos rose, crossing the distance to stand before Vincent, their knees almost brushing. Vincent looked up, quizzical, the question light in his mind. /_I needed to know your answer_/

A crease between black brows betrayed Vincent's confusion_; too what question_, was a half-formed thought in his mind, but Chaos did not give him the chance to finish it. His slate-grey hand rose. The tips of claws caressed a moon-white jaw, running down to rest upon Vincent's strong neck in a loose embrace, fingers lightly rubbing. Vincent's eyes widened, but he did not pull away, not yet at least. Chaos bent slowly and pressed a hot, chaste kiss upon his lips, tasting a hint of Vincent's beautiful darkness before pulling away.

He stepped back, not wanting to press the human. The Kagalbi staked their claim without fear and clearly, so that no confusion could bloom, but they did not force. It was up to the female to accept or decline in her own time. A Kagalbi male had to have patience and endurance as well as the will to fight for his chosen mate. A female could string her courting males along for months, and the competition amongst them would often blow up in violent fights, occasionally resulting in crippling wounds or even death. Chaos would be sure never to let Vincent know he'd placed him in the female role for the courting, but he had no other reference to fall back upon. Despite his time amongst humans, he knew little of their courting practices, never having cared to learn. At least he wouldn't be battling other hot-headed young males for the gunman's attentions.

Vincent's lips parted, but no words came. This did not bother Chaos; he would let Vincent decide on his own, with the privacy of time and space. He turned away, back to the terrace doors. /_Give me your answer when you are ready_/ He did not look back, but took to the skies, needed clean air to calm his pounding pulse. This might be the end, he did not know if Vincent was offended by his advance, but it was worth it. He'd acted, and would not have to live with what could have been if he'd only been bolder and truer to his people. He had no regrets.

….

Vincent let the door fall shut behind him. The apartment was empty and dark, and he knew Chaos had not yet returned. He walked slowly into the kitchen, flipping on the harsh florescent light, and poured himself a drink, knocked it back, and then another. Alcohol had little effect on his undead body, but he was used to drinking hard; it came with the province of being a Turk.

Rufus Shinra was an arrogant bastard, but he'd already known that before today. He'd just spent the last two hours smoothing over the ruffled feathers of Shinra's Executives and the President himself. Unless they wanted to throw the CNO's Ambassador to the pavement though, they had little choice but acquiesce to his demands in this. Chaos was staying in Midgar however long the General (Ex-General, but they didn't need to know that) wanted. Vincent had to promise to 'keep that creature reigned in;' they didn't want Chaos popping into another one of their country club dinners, or a board meeting, but Vincent didn't think Chaos would be too disappointed. The calculating look in Hollander's eyes however, had sent his teeth on edge. He wouldn't put it passed the Head of the Science Department to try something. For the moment Rufus had the man in hand –not wanting to risk a war—but Hojo had always found ways to pursue 'science' with or without the President's approval, and Vincent feared Hollander would be no different.

It was fortunate Vincent had had time to meet with the little covert group of operatives formed to derail the potential threat of war with the CNO, before he'd seen Rufus. Tseng had been able to tell him how Veld had reacted to the demon's sudden appearance –not well—and Reeve had needed to know their game plan before Vincent headed into enemy territory with no-one at his back.

The unorthodox group came with its share of quirks and little dramas, but Vincent thought they fit well together:

Elena was always eager to arrive early to the secret meetings, wanting to get prime seating –or more accurately the seat closest to the reserved Tseng. Jessie had a tendency to drag her feet, grumbling the whole way about having to put up with 'that ass Reno' again. They always met in one of the smaller Turk de-briefing rooms, it was the most accessible and least suspicious place for three CNO Hands, five Turks, and a Shinra Executive to gather.

Vincent followed his two female Hands into the comfortably sized room. Tseng, Cissnei, and Marie were already seated at the large table dominating the room. Cissnei's crisp Turk suit was as pristine as ever, wavy-russet hair tugged behind her ears as she gave the girls and Vincent's a small smile of welcome. Marie fingered the shotgun for which she was nicknamed, and pointy ignored her younger sister Elena as was their custom during these meetings. The girls had one of the fiercest sibling rivalries Vincent had ever had the misfortune of witnessing.

Tseng acknowledged the arrivals briefly, before turning back to the files spread out before him. Tseng was a religious worker; Vincent had rarely seen the Wutain in a relaxed state. The Turk had let down his shoulder-length black hair, untying it from the high-tail he'd worn earlier. Vincent had observed the Turk do this when under stress, an almost unconscious reaction to the load upon his shoulders. Tseng was the Turk's Second in Command but he handled the work of a Director, and was knees-deep in the intricate and messy dance of Shinra politics which could give anyone premature wrinkles.

Elena plopped herself 'casually' next to Tseng, the top buttons of her blouse strategically left open. While Elena's advances were relatively subtle for a girl her age, they stood out like a call-girl hitching a ride in the room full of Turks and Hands trained to read ever little nuance of detail in the interactions around them. Elena was usually a sensible girl. She hadn't always been, but had outgrown her loose tongue and clumsy feet, and was now a force to be taken seriously with all the wiles of a woman and a deadly shotgun tucked into her belt. However, when it came to Tseng Elena regressed to the over-eager girl she'd once been.

Vincent retuned Tseng's nod of greeting and took the seat next to the soft-spoken Cissnei. He had to repress a smirk at the annoyed look just barely slipping through Tseng's cool mask as Elena situated herself as close to the Turk as he'd allow.

Cissnei was a good addition to their group, she didn't speak up often, but when she did it was always something of import. The young Turk knew Shinra inside and out, having spent her whole life with the Company. She was also an unlooked for, but not unappreciated, moral compass. She had a strong set of morals underneath her Turk loyalty; it was all too easy to lose oneself in the job and the kill, and become a shadow as Veld had.

Reeve walked in next, closely followed by the two lagging Turks Reno and Rude. Vincent was pleased to see Reeve had come in person this time; he found the engineer's electronic cat annoying, though undeniably useful. Reeve's usually warm brown eyes had a serious glint in them today. Everyone knew they were here for damage control, and that Chaos's sudden appearance could tip the delicate balance of the peace they'd all been working so hard to maintain. But Vincent did not regret Chaos's arrival for a moment.

"Well, we don't have much time today," Reeve sighed as he took the chair across from Vincent. Reno made sure to snag a seat that would give Jessie a birds-eye view of him. The red-head was constantly teasing the Hand. Reno found it amusing to pick at all the ex-terrorist's affronted sensibilities, and see how long it would take her before she snapped at the Shinra's.

"I agree," Tseng said. "It would be best Vincent, if you smooth Rufus over before he has time to simmer."

"How did Veld take the news?" Vincent inquired after nodding his agreement to Tseng.

"Locked himself up with the other fat-wigs," Reno scratched lazy at his balls, legs spread wide as he slouched lower then Vincent believed possible in the office chair. Jessie glared at him in disgust.

Reeve sighed, "Just as I feared then.

"Hollander was with them," Rude's quiet rumble added.

"Fuck," Elena swore, still stealing glances at Tseng's immovable profile.

"I'm with ya there, baby." Reno grinned, but without humor. "The day Veld The Sadistic Prick and Hollander The Balls-Less Scientist cross-arms is a day for Hell's Books, yo."

Tseng shot Reno a warning look. Veld may be on the other side of this cold-war, but he was still the Turk Director and demanded Reno's respect. Reno stared back, not backing down for a long moment. His celadon eyes where stark and hard, surrounded by the gang tattoos underlining them in red. Rude shifted slightly, sending a silent message to his partner, and Reno finally backed down, lowering his eyes in submission to the Turk Second in Command.

The room had been silent, watchful, during the confrontation but now Reeve cleared his throat, tactically avoiding the Turk Politics in play. "I fear Veld is planning some retaliation, and with Hollander's help."

"The Northern boarder's again?" Jessie queried, tucking a lose strand of her frizzy hair behind an ear.

Veld had not made another move in that district since Reno had successfully sabotaged his mission almost three months ago. Tseng was worried the Turk Director was becoming suspicious, and they'd cut their covert meetings down, trying to fly under the radar of Veld's mistrustful eyes.

"I believe he will move against the CNO General…Chaos?" Tseng questioned, all eyes turned to Vincent, shimmering with a curiosity they couldn't quite conceal.

Vincent nodded stiffly. "Yes, General Chaos," was all he offered. "What makes you think Veld will single out Chaos?"

"He is CNO," Tseng began carefully, "And some would say the reason for the rebellion's success, second only to its President. Also…he quite obviously came to see_ you_."

Vincent kept his face blank. They didn't know anything, just fishing for more information on the mysterious and elusive General. Even Elena and Jessie only knew what was common knowledge among the upper-ranks of the CNO. Vincent was widely regarded as the number one authority on the demon General, and he was used to people prying, though that didn't mean he had too like it. While Chaos inspired fear in his ranks, he also garnered awe and respect, and it was human nature to be curious about ones leaders. The military leaders and President's of Shinra and the CNO were some of the most worshiped and enigmatic celebrities in the world.

What Tseng said rang true though, and Vincent knew it. Veld would go after Chaos merely because of the demon's association with Vincent: anything to hurt his ex-partner. Vincent wished Chaos far away and safe from the slipper-slope of Shinra politics, even as he relished having him so close. He'd missed Chaos, terribly, but in some ways Chaos was belovedly naive and guileless. Chaos was not meant for the cruel games and backstabbing of human politics. Chaos understood his own brand of honor and pride and wasn't going to change for anything or anyone. He was a warrior, born and bred, fed warfare at the mouth of his mother's breast, and trained in the honor and nobility of his people in the ancient forests and the harsh, unforgiving, precipices of the Nibel Mountains. Chaos's domain was a battlefield, and Vincent feared for him; he had a dangerous tendency to underestimating his opponents when not on a field of war. It wouldn't be strength of arms that brought the demon to his knees, but the sneaky, underhand tactics all too common among the treacherous politics of the Shinra Electric Company.

"What's done is done," Vincent finally answered. "All we can do is be on our guard now."

"And what of the CNO?" Reeve pressed. "How will they react to a direct attack on one of its General's if it comes to that? Will all this have been a waste?"

Vincent looked into Reeves anxious eyes, saw Tseng's too stiff body and Reno's too relaxed one. They all had their own reasons for being here and betraying the Company, the President, even a once beloved mentor in Tseng's case. They wanted peace, or at least they wanted peace until Shinra had the strength to rise up again and crush the opposition. These were the clear-eyed associates of Shinra, not so drunk on their own power and greed to be blinded to the Company's weak state.

"No," Vincent finally admitted. "Though I trust you all know the danger of this becoming known? Ryquendë will not start a war over Chaos; in fact, he's not even a CNO General anymore."

"What's that?" Reno blinked, sitting up a little straighter.

"Ryquendë and Chaos have never…seen eye-to-eye. She'd probably be relieved if he was out of her way. So no," he turned back to Reeve, seeing the growing relief in the brown eyes. "You don't need to fear the CNO's retaliation in this. It is my business, his and mine. But I would thank-you," he included the Turk's with a sweeping glance, "If you alerted me of any movement's Veld might make against Chaos…it would be a personal favor." And a debt he'd no doubt be called in to pay one day, but it was worth it.

Tseng nodded his understanding, "Of course."

"Well, now that that's settled," Reeve sounded significantly more chipper, and Vincent tried not to resent him for it. Chaos was not their concern after all. "I've been thinking maybe we should expand a bit. I believe we are all aware that as it now stands we have little power but as intelligence gathers and birds that whisper in the right ears. Other then my one vote on the board, there is only Valentine's position as an ambassador which holds any real sway." He looked apologetically at Tseng, but the words did not lie.

"Who did you have in mind?" Tseng asked.

"Lazard," Reeve said, and seeing the speculative looks, continued. "He holds a seat and vote on the board, and unlike Heidegger, Palmer, or Algerton, has some integrity and is an intelligent man. I believe he would understand the necessity of what we are trying to accomplish here."

One of Rufus's first acts as President had been to sack Scarlet's replacement, one of his father's notoriously worst appointments. The man had been corrupt, skimming off the top of the Weapons Department's budget and siphoning it into a personal bank account. He'd also been involved in illegal arms and drug dealing as well as being a major financial investor of Don Corneo's thriving business in the sale of human bodies. Rufus had moved his half-brother Lazard into the open Head of Department seat.

Rufus and Lazard had a rocky relationship rife with jealousy and resentment, but Rufus had used the temptation of the powerful position to bribe his half-brother into submission –as well as chuck a useless, corrupt employee. Ambition was a family trait, and Lazard wouldn't be a Shinra if he didn't want _more_. Whether Lazard was really letting the past lie was questionable. He'd certainly flourished in his new post, but was more than capable of running his own agenda behind Rufus's back. It had been a risky move on Rufus's part, and Vincent thought it still too early to judge if it would pay off.

Rufus hadn't given Lazard more power out of any brotherly love though; it was, Vincent believed, the heir's gift to the illegitimate child on his coronation day –a mockery. Vincent had not spent tedious months in and out of Shinra's board meetings to not see the way Rufus goaded his half-brother, with Lazard giving back as good as he got: every word wrapped in the shinny, polished packaging of a politician. Both brothers had the gift of intelligence, cunning, and the tongues of orators, and they spun delicate, slippery webs about each other, waiting to see who would trip first. They danced an old tango together, a rivalry reaching back to their youths. Though Vincent did not know what had spawned the enmity, he did know the Shinra family. Like any powerful family, such rivalries were not uncommon among them, but the Shinra's did not shed kin-blood. Family is what had set the Shinra dynasty atop the world, and their loyally ran as deep as the blood uniting them. Lazard may not have the Shinra name, but he did have the blood, and that made him untouchable.

With Lazard moved from Director of SOLDIER to the Head of Weapon's Development, Rufus had abolished the vacated Directorship, giving the duties that were once Lazard's into Sephiroth's hands, as well as the lesser board seat which came with the post. Rufus didn't believe SOLDIER needed a General as well as a Director, though the demolishment of an extra top-level paycheck probably had as much to do with the decision as the work load.

"Lazard has close ties to Hollander," Tseng commented, unreadable dark eyes shifting to Vincent.

"He also has his own agenda and plays his cards very close to his chest." Vincent answered Tseng's unspoken question. No, he did not want to bring Lazard in anymore then Tseng did. The man could be as devious as some of the most corrupt Shinra executives, not to mention his dealing with Hollander.

"I'm not saying he's ideal," Reeve agreed. "But he is our best option, unless we wish too approach General Sephiroth again." The Executive looked at the Turks.

Vincent's face showed nothing, no one in this room knew of his relationship with Sephiroth. Tseng had no doubted noted his visits to his son's office, but would have concluded Sephiroth and himself merely hid a friendship developed during Sephiroth's captivity with the CNO. Without knowing of their blood relationship, that would be the only sensible conclusion since they shared no sexual intimacy.

Vincent had given no discouragement or encouragement when Rude had proposed the inclusion of the General in their covert group. The General made no secret of his stance on the matter of another war with the CNO –he was firmly against it. However, when approached by the Turks he'd refused the invitation to join them, not wishing to become entangled in 'Turk Politics' as he saw it. Vincent was both relieved and disappointed by Sephiroth's decision. He would have enjoying getting to work with his son, but he was also keenly aware of how dangerous all their positions had become. What they were doing could be considered treason by Shinra standers, and the Turks and Reeve had earned his respect by risking their jobs and personal safety for the larger cause of peace –even if they were all doing this for their own selfish reasons.

"The General will not agree." Rude's voice was quiet with conviction. "It would put his SOLDIERs at risk."

Reeve frowned, "At least we know he is solidly against another war, that's something, but what of Lazard then?"

"I don't trust him," Cissnei's soft voice carried easily. "He hides it well, but he's not forgiven his brother, and will always put his own power schemes before all else, I think."

Jessie huffed, tired of picking at the sticky web of Shinra politics. "Why don't Rufus just toss all these greedy sons of bitches? I thought he was supposed to be intelligent."

Tseng answered with the shadow of a smile for the impatient ex-terrorist, "Because they are easy to control. Cunning Department Head's like Lazard have their own agenda's as we discussed, and they are clever enough to operate around the President's control and the Turk's watching eyes. Heidegger will never be a threat to the President –other than one of stupidity—but Lazard is a mind only waiting for enough allies before it can stage a coup."

The meeting had broken up shortly after that, they all knew better then too linger over long with such a large assembly. The talk had swung back around to Chaos in the end, but Vincent had kept his answers clipped or non-existent and they quickly got the point, though Vincent had had to resort to glaring at Elena when the chirpy girl became to talkative to her unresponsive crush. Elena and Jessie knew little enough about Chaos –less than the soldiers who had fought under the demon—but Vincent was not fond of gossip, and his Hand's knew it. They were all more than capable of discovering the answers they sought on their own. Turks were born for this kind of challenge, and even Reeve had his own ways of gathering intelligence –it was a necessary if you wanted to climb to the top-rails of the Shinra Corporation. The gunman was comfortable in the knowledge that none would discover the truth unless Chaos and he wanted them too; he doubted there were two more private people on the face of Gaia.

Vincent had left the meeting feeling even more uneasy about Chaos's presence, here in the heart of Shinra, then before. The revelations about Veld and Hollander's meeting disturbed him. The sooner Chaos left Midgar the better. But Vincent knew from experience that Chaos could be impossibly stubborn when he dug his claws in, and Vincent didn't think he'd be the one asking Chaos to leave again.

He sighed and poured himself another drink, metal hand tinkling against the glass. He'd not seen this coming. He'd spoken truly to Chaos; he'd really believed the demon would not come back –not for many long years—and certainly not to... He'd experienced a shock, and then realized he shouldn't have, and that if he'd just been looking at their relationship from the outside-in it would have been obvious years ago.

Vincent wasn't sure how he felt in return though. Certainly the demon was his friend, the closest he had –had ever had—but did he want more than that?

Beautiful Lucrecia gave him a coy smile; it still had the power to send shivers of lust down his spine, but he did not reach out for her. He pushed her memory away. It felt like another lifetime when they'd lain together under their tree, the warm mountain breeze caressing their skin. His glass angel had shattered, and her siren's call had grown fainter as the years of war slipped by. Sealed in his box, time passed differently; he'd still been able to taste her kisses upon his lips, smell her scent –jasmine, how appropriate for such a temptress—as if she lay beside him. Four years of walking among the living though, had cast a veil over the past, one he had no desire to pull away. He no longer thought of her every minute of every day, in fact he went days, weeks, without falling into memory now. He would have thought it the greatest sin to let time take her, but that was before she broke. Before the perfect skin had peeled back and he'd looked at what lay beneath; before he'd met their son and seen the full measure what she had done. There is no forgiveness for some crimes, of that he was intimately familiar, but now she had to learn as well. He'd carried the burden of his angel's sins for twenty years and beyond, and while they still visited him in the night, he'd found a forgiveness he'd not asked for in his son. Sephiroth had forgiven him, had allowed him into his life. And while Vincent would never be able to completely lay the past aside, he'd found a piece of serenity in his son's absolution.

The sun had sent, leaving only the purple-velvet of her shadow in the west. The starlight could not piece the suffocating gloom vomited up from the Reactors, though the moon was a slice of yellow breaking through the fog. Vincent rinsed out his used glass before clicking off the hard kitchen light and weaving through the sitting room –eyes easily piercing the darkness—and to his bed. He cracked Cloud's door open as he passed, but as suspected the boy had not yet returned. Either his SOLDIER friend Fair had taken him out or he was with Sephiroth, either way he'd long since learned how to take care of himself.

Vincent struggled with his shirt buttons a moment; there was a very good reason he chose simpler clothes, but his right hand had grown accustomed to navigating for itself. He was just dropping his trousers when he heard the distinctive creak of a door opening, and a few moments later the acid flavor of Midgar-air coated his tongue. It was Chaos then. Noiselessly he stepped out of his slacks and pulled on a pair of loose sleeping pants before cautiously laying down on the bed, thankful when the bedspring did not squeak. He felt like a mouse creeping about, trying not to alert the predator to its existence.

He listened to Chaos move about the apartment for a moment: the creaking of pipes as they grew heavy with water, the sound of leather wings brushing against wood in the narrow hallway. He realized he'd never show Chaos a room when he heard the demon stop before Cloud's. The door opened and closed again as Chaos walked on, and Vincent's heart rate accelerated. Fuck. Chaos paused before his door, and Vincent rose on the bed, torn between wanting Chaos to hurry up and get in here so he could discover exactly what he wanted, and desperate for the demon to leave so he could figure out what he wanted alone, without those glowing eyes looking straight into him. The sound of sniffing broke through Vincent's scattered desires, and he realized Chaos was trying to determine if he was here by his scent. Apparently it worked, for the next moment Chaos walked on, and Vincent felt the tightness in his chest release. But he was left wondering if he was more disappointed than relieved, and didn't that answer all his other questions?

He lay back down again, watching the shadows dance on the wall, thinking about nothing and everything, letting the past wander freely through his mind's eye. He thought of the war and Cloud and Sephiroth, and he thought of Chaos and thousands of little moments together. He remembered the feel of hot, strong arms about him –so unlike the softness of a woman's—and the racing of his blood as they flew higher and higher until Vincent was sure they'd touch the sun, melt into the stars. He remembered the day they'd met, when a creature, a monster, had given him a gift too great and daunting to ever repay –freedom. And then the monster had wept –tears of exhaustion, tears of a pain reaching beyond Vincent's understanding—and he had realized truly, fully, that this creature of claws and fangs and bat wings and yellow eyes burning like the sun, was no monster, was nothing like.

And Vincent thought of Lucrecia, without bitterness now, only a lingering sorrow for what might have been if only… He had spent twenty-two years sleeping in a coffin with regret and guilt and shame as his bedfellows. It might be different now, but those years would always haunt him just as eagerly as the memories. He didn't want to live another regret, another mistake he'd spend the next thirty years reliving. If he listened, really listened to what his heart already knew –without all the static of what could go wrong and all the reasons why he shouldn't accept Chaos 's offer—then he'd find the answer to the question already written on his skin.

He rose and left the bed and the safe confines of his room. His feet took him surly and without hesitation to the last room of the hall, the one that had stood empty before tonight.

He did not want to live another regret.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind Vincent and he stood for a moment, naked but for the loose sweatpants hanging off his hips, feet bare on the cold wooden floor. Chaos lay on the bed, cradling wings the only cover for naked flesh, not even a blanket pulled over the strong body. The feathered head was tucked under the crook of an arm, burrowing away like a small animal. Vincent stepped forward noiselessly to stand beside the bed, and Chaos became aware of the other's presence. The light of Chaos's yellow-fire eyes filled the night like the sun's first rays peaking over a mountain crag.

They did not need words to explain. Vincent slipped the cotton pants down his hips, kicking them off to stand bare; long raven hair his only remnant, for once not ashamed of the scars marring his body or the fierce glare of the gantlet taking the place of a stolen arm. Chaos rose to meet him, leathery wings rustling in anticipation. Gentle claws settled on Vincent's hips, drawing him forward, accepting the silent answer.

A hand rose, dark-skinned and tipped with blades, to caress Vincent's neck and finger the hideous tattoo Hojo had branded there, "Mine." Chaos hit him with a kiss.

Furnace-hot, the velvety cavern consumed him, fangs kissing his tongue, leaving the taste of brimstone in their wake and a greed for more. Vincent's human hand snared in the scarlet mane, yanking the white-hot mouth to him again, and drawing a wolfish growl from the demon. Vincent wore his desire on his skin, nestling in the tangles of his hair, the hot breath of his moans, and Chaos devoured it.

Chaos's face was feral; his eyes burned like radiant jewels as he threw Vincent upon the bed. Vincent arched up into the heavy body, soaking up the burning heat of the demon's flesh. Fire surrounded him, caging him within the iron bars of Chaos's muscled arms, and he snatched at the flames with another kiss, running his tongue over salty skin stretched over a wildfire. Chaos's cock pressed into his belly, grinding down as Vincent raised his hips to meet the thrusts.

Chaos snarled in his ear, "I want thee," and flipped him onto his front, burying his face in Vincent's hair, inhaling his scent. Vincent turned his head, catching the flash of gold-fire eyes as he heard Chaos prepare himself with the spit of his mouth, having nothing else to ease the way. Vincent tasted the iron of blood, biting down on his tongue as Chaos drove into him, wild and savage as the hunt. It burned, and he hollowed his back, pushing into the thrusts, savoring the pain; he'd always been a glutton for punishment.

Chaos pulled him up, pressing his sweat-slick chest into Vincent's back. "_Mine_," he growled into the shell of Vincent's ear as he took him, and Vincent snarled back, biting the curve of the other's jaw. The demon's claws were tender upon his waist, a counterbalance to the fever of their coupling. They made love with all the feral, raw passion of a battlefield.

The pleasure crested within Vincent and broke like a wave upon rocky shores, his mouth opened in a silent cry. It had been so very long since he'd found release in another's arms –since Lucrecia. His human hand reached behind to brace himself on Chaos's powerful thigh as his bones melted. Chaos held him, hot breath panting in his ear, trembling with suppressed violence, the steel of Chaos's arouse still sheathed within him.

/_More_/ He urged, and Chaos obliged, taking him to the heights of ecstasy again. The pleasure fell into pain, unbearable, stealing the air from their lungs, the great plunge, the silence before the storm. And then the pleasure exploded through their bodies, firing along their nerves, working into their bones.

They lay in a sweaty tangle of limbs, the racing beat of their hearts filling their ears, echoing the harsh gasping of their lungs. Chaos's hand shifted in midnight hair, long strands caressing his face. "Vincent."

Vincent met the golden eyes in the darkness before moving to kiss the shape of the demon's mouth. It opened for him, lazy as a summer's day and just as humid. Chaos's body stirred beneath him, and he hummed back with the promise of more. He flipped Chaos onto his back. Hunger shone in the demon's eyes again, a dark smile like the beauty between stars upon his lips, his kiss an oath of the rapture still to come.

…

Muffled voices woke Vincent and he gently disentangled himself from Chaos's arms. It was still many hours short of dawn, but this was late for Cloud to be getting in. He pulled on his discarded pants and fumbled around for a shirt, not wishing to appear with so little clothing, but Chaos owned nothing but armor. He slipped noiselessly out of the room and detoured into his own for a suitable shirt, before padding into the living room on naked feet. He halted before leaving the hall's shadows, not wanting to disturb the scene he found.

Sephiroth and Cloud were lounging at the dining room table, a convenient bottle of scotch at hand, as they played poker. Cloud was dressed in a comfortable T-shirt and his black uniform pants, bare toes wiggling about the rungs of his chair as he kept up a straight poker face, though it couldn't match Sephiroth's practiced blank mask. Sephiroth was equally casually dressed in his customary leather pants and a gray sweater. A leather thong held his hair, pulled high like a War Horse, and falling in a plume of silver.

It was not a rare sight to see the two together, and more so in recent weeks. Vincent had noted the shift in their relationship immediately, and known what it meant. He'd kept his peace though. It was done. They had crossed the line between friend and lover and while he could wish they'd waited, he was not going to chastise them. He'd never seen Cloud as happy as he'd been these last few months, and he could do nothing to dim the light in his son's eyes, even if it meant Cloud might be hurt later. He wasn't going to try and split them apart on a possible future, or a hurt that perhaps would never come. Perhaps was an empty word, you couldn't build a life upon it; there would always be a 'perhaps' in every relationship and every decision. His son's had chosen to be with each other and he considered Cloud responsible enough despite his youth to make that choice alone, and strong enough to live with what might prove to be a poor choice. As for Sephiroth, Vincent had watched them together and seen no signs of coercion or an abuse of experience or age. He didn't know Sephiroth's feelings for Cloud, but was sure they fell far short of Cloud's own. Cloud was in love with Sephiroth. He hadn't realized it yet, but it was written in his eyes, the tone of his voice when he spoke of his lover, the reverence of his casual touches. Sephiroth did not return the measure of Cloud's love, but Vincent could only hope that love would grow; it would hardly be the first relationship started on base desires that blossomed into a lifelong love.

"You cheated!" Cloud cried, throwing down his card hand in mock affront.

Sephiroth's lip twitched in a smirk. "You're just a poor loser." He scooped his winnings of Gil and –strangely enough– pineapple slices, towards him.

"You're the one who couldn't bear losing so much you resorted to underhand tactics!" Cloud huffed, eyeing the forfeited pineapple.

Sephiroth lazily picked up a slice and slowly brought it to his mouth. Juices dripped down his chin as he tasted the coveted delicacy. He licked his lips and then his fingers, Cloud's mesmerized eyes following every movement of that mouth. "What underhand tactics?"

"Huh?" Cloud blinked, gaze straying back to Sephiroth's mouth again.

"Ah, you have no proof of your allegations. I believe you own me a drink." Sephiroth topped off Cloud's glass.

"If I have to drink so do you, cheater!" Cloud complained, but couldn't suppress his smile.

"On what grounds? I won the hand, and according to our rules only the loser drinks."

Cloud mumbled something but lifted the amber liquid to his lips, taking a large mouthful. Instead of swallowing though, he leaned across the table and stole the smirk from Sephiroth's lips. "There," Cloud said breathlessly as he pulled away, "Now you've drunk too. We're even."

"Hardly," Sephiroth growled, and his hands looping under Cloud's arms to pull the boy bodily across the table and kiss him.

The chair toppled over from the force of Sephiroth's exit as he slammed his mouth into Cloud's. The boy welcomed him eagerly, letting Sephiroth maneuver him until he perched upon the table top, legs spread to allow the man to lean between them. They grappled a moment with Cloud's pants before freeing the moon-white legs, and Sephiroth hurried to undo his fly as Cloud's tongue played across his neck, teeth nipping his ear.

"Agh, Sephiroth!" Cloud cried out, head thrown back as the man finally entered him. Sephiroth yanked up Cloud's shirt and began kissing and biting the hard nipples. Cloud grabbed fistfuls of Sephiroth's hair as the strength of the man's thrust lifted him off the table.

"They're beautiful." Vincent started as Chaos purred in his ear; he'd not even heard the demon coming. Chaos's hard chest pressed against his back and a clawed-hand slithered about his waist to palm Vincent's hard cock through the loose pants.

"Ngh," Vincent gasped. "Yes, no…they're…" He tried to think of some acceptable reason for his inability to look away from the couple, but could find none.

Cloud's face was flushed, hair plastered against a sweaty forehead as he urged his lover on. Vincent could see the clenching muscles of Sephiroth's abdomen where the sweater had ridden up, revealing strength coiled taught as a wire. Sephiroth's breath hissed through clenched jaws as the violence of his thrusts threw the smaller body into the air, the iron of his grip on a slender waist the only thing anchoring the boy.

"Exciting," Chaos finished.

/_My sons_/ Vincent corrected, finally turning to face the demon, the obscene sounds of sex still reaching his ears.

/_Yes_/ Chaos's playful teasing evaporated. /_And tell me, my human, art thou still disgusted with the practices of my people?_/

/_I was never disgusted_/ Vincent lied.

A disbelieving brow rose. /_No?/_

The gunman looked away. /_I would never…touch them…like that_/ he stumbled, acutely aware of the ongoing noise at his back and the hardness of his sex.

/_I know_/ Vincent was surprised by Chaos's words and the confident tone of their deliverance. /_And I am thankful, for it wouldst destroy thou to do so_/ Vincent closed his eyes, feeling hot shame upon his skin. Yes, it would, but he had looked hadn't he? Chaos caught his chin, demanding his eyes. /_Thou wouldst never touch them_/ He said again with all the conviction of a priest upon his pulpit.

Vincent finally acknowledged the truth of these words, and Chaos's sharp fingers caressed his cheek tenderly as the demon read the acceptance knitted on the pale brow. The seriousness bleed from the fierce face as mischief settled herself there and pulled out all her wiles. Chaos smiled, and sharp fangs glinted in the dim lit hall. His eyes were gold-velvet, like a beast's. /_Come my virtuous voyeur_/ he teased, tugging Vincent towards the bedroom again. Vincent scowled at the name, but supposed it wasn't entirely undeserved, and followed his lover back to their bed.


	12. Shinra's Folly, Part II

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 12: Shinra's Folly, Part II

He had chosen Reno today; the red-headed Turk was always an interesting hunt. With Vincent spending most of his days locked away in board meetings and the duties of ambassador, Chaos had little to do but fly and stalk; he'd chosen stalking today.

Reno was only the latest in a line of Shinra personnel he'd taken to spying on. He'd started with the General, Vincent's son, but quickly grown bored with the monotony of office life. Sephiroth had few missions now that he carried the duties of Director and General, and Chaos was not a creature content with inaction. It was interesting to see the man twitch though, the human's instincts were keen enough to sense the watcher, but never able to pinpoint the cause of his irritation. Chaos had moved on to Tseng next, but it was much the same as with the General: too much paper work and overly honed instincts. The Wutain did have some interesting quirks when alone. Chaos had caught the man praying to Leviathan more than once, and Chaos wondered if Vincent was aware exactly how many times his Hand Elena visited/bothered/hit on the Turk Commander. Chaos had spent some time on Rufus too, but while he enjoyed observing his human during the board meetings, the load of tedious office work and string of glittery prostitutes coming at all hours, had turned him off this prey fairly quickly as well.

He'd already been in Midgar two weeks before he picked Reno to stalk –finally an exciting quarry. Reno did not have the experience to sense his shadow, and had some interesting missions in the slums. The Turk was coming back from one such mission now: surveillance on the half-Cetra girl. Chaos had been interested to discover it was Tseng who had kept the girl out of Shinra's hands for so long. Vincent had explained to him once that all Turks needed a point of balance outside the job (as killers) to keep them human. Chaos speculated that for the Wutain Turk, this point of humanity rested with the little Cetra girl –poor Elena.

Chaos tracked Reno as he made his way casually through the Shinra building to the Turk floor. The shadows bent and twisted about Chaos's skin, molding to his form. He was their master, and they bowed to his will. He slipped into a shaded corner as Reno detoured from his lazy stroll, and headed straight for a preoccupied SOLDIER.

"Yo, Fair," Reno's greeting caused the SOLDIER to pause mid squat.

"Hiya Reno!" Fair smiled back, much too brightly in Chaos's opinion.

He'd observed the young Lieutenant before; the boy had a habit of crashing into the General's repetitive days with huge grins and a tongue that ran a mile a minute. Chaos gathered the Lieutenant was a bit adrift without his mentor Hewley, but the demon still thought the boy talked too much, and without consulting the intelligence hiding in the bird-bright eyes. The Lieutenant was overly-friendly and often hid behind his boyish charm, instead of exercising his mind. Chaos thought the young man sold himself short. The SOLDIER was bright, but that intellect was confined in the box of naivety; he was too willing to see the good in everyone, including the company he worked for. Fair was, in short, still a boy, though on the edge of manhood. He still saw with the eyes of youth, but was just a few steps away from the precipice of change, and the unveiling of all the lies he lived within. Chaos supposed it was not such a terrible thing that the young man had not yet been pushed off this precipice; it would come soon enough.

Reno popped his hip against one of the beige couches filling the little lounge Fair was loitering in. The lounge was identical to a dozen other areas cramming Shinra Tower, offering a false sense of 'homeliness' in the frigid building of glass, metal, and stark white-walls. Fair threw himself across a stained sofa –the light coloring doing nothing to hide old coffee stains—and hanging his combat boots over the arm. The lounge even had fake plastic plants adorning substandard coffee tables with peeling linoleum that showcased the cheap-grade plywood beneath.

"So Fair-" Reno was cut off by the SOLDIER insisting the Turk call him Zack. "_Zack_, you're clocking in a lot of hours with the General, yo, now you're his Lieutenant and all." Reno was slick as a wet otter, all casual friendliness while he conducted an impromptu interrogation session on the SOLDIER.

"Sure, Sephiroth's great. At first he can really get to you with his standoffishness, but he's a good guy underneath." Fair looped his hands behind his head, easy grin still playing on his face, the picture of guilelessness but for the shrewdness behind his eyes. The SOLDIER was not fooled by the Turk's 'casual' interest.

"Right," Reno drawled. "You been hanging out with that CNO Strife, too…so has the General." Reno cut to chase, seeing the knowing look in Fair's eyes.

Fair sighed, dropping the boyish grin. "Look Reno. Cissnei has already asked about Cloud as I am sure you are aware. Hell, you could probably quote back what I told her. I bet you Turks have wires on you at all time or some shit." The SOLDIER waved off Reno's attempted denial. "And Tseng cornered me a few days ago as well, so this is getting old fast. The General and Cloud are friends. Deal with it. Cloud's my friend too and I think he's great. I'm building bridges of peace with our new allies' right?" Fair shrugged innocently, but he was laughing behind his mako-bright eyes. Yes, the boy defiantly had some wit about him.

Chaos was hardly surprised by the line of questions; Shinra would not want its star General associating so closely with a CNO representative. And if they had dared, would probably set up cameras and bugs in the General's private rooms. However, no camera was completely silent, and there were always ways to detect bugs, and if –when—their General discovered the invasion, they would have an angry killing machine on their hands. So Shinra was left fishing in the dark, trying to discover what it could from alternative sources. Since Chaos doubted they'd actually pull Sephiroth aside and ask him plainly what his relationship was to the members of the CNO delegation, Shinra was left with the scenic route: Zack Fair.

Chaos's attention was stolen from the delicate tiptoeing dance before him when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. There was a flash of black before a door leading to a back-stairway swung shut behind a retreating figure. Everything about the figure screamed wrong, and Chaos wasn't going to let a potential adventure pass him by; he was far too bored in this metal city to turn away from a hunt.

He stalked silently to the door, keeping to the shadows as Reno and Fair headed further down the hall, both still posturing as coworkers just having a friendly chat. Chaos pressed his ear against the steel-plated door, listening and smelling for the scent of his prey, but he sensed nothing. The stark scents of cleaning supplies, stale air, and metal blocked out any other smells. Hunting in a glass building was nothing like a mountain forest.

He opened the door slowly; it folded in to the narrow stair-landing behind. Yellow eyes darted about as he stepped further onto the landing, aiming to get a clear view of the concealed steps below, hidden by the wrapping of the stairs. The door clicked shut behind him and he was hit by the smell of his prey like a blow: it was behind him. He whirled about, hand reaching for his gun, when a round caught him in the chest. It didn't even break his momentum, so tiny was…the prick… His prey –now hunter—was revealed, emotionless eyes staring back at him down the barrel of a gun, a strange gun. The man had been hiding in the door's blind-spot. Chaos had a moment of sharp amusement at his own clumsiness, before the edges of his vision began to cloud.

He wasn't down yet though. He sent death back at the man –Turk—who had shot him. The human wasn't quite fast enough. Chaos stumbled as he watched the shock-faced man's body slam into the wall, before sliding down in a slow paint of red to crumple on the floor. The Turk's wild blue bangs fell over blankly staring eyes. Chaos's clawed fingers search for the blood on his own chest, still surprised that a single round could do this much damage to his body, but he found none.

He looked down, swaying, at the dart imbedded in his breast bone. Ice flowed like fire through his veins. The memory of white walls and green liquid and pain, a vile woman's empty apologies, and crazed dark laughter, and being trapped, trapped, trapped, surged through him. No. NO.

Vincent was right, he thought as he hit his knees; he should have listened to him…should have listened…he'd underestimated his enemy badly. The bite of bullets could not fell him, or the might of swordmasters, or the fire and speed of materia –the Planet's gifts to her children—but the liquid his heart was now pumping through his body could.

His hands caught him as he tottered forward, barely cushioning a collision with the hard floor, before they too buckled under him. He heard a door open, footsteps, the flash of shined shoes, a sigh of 'Rodeo, you damned fool,' a man's voice but he didn't know it. He was turned over –none too gently—his vision swimming, his head fogging. Raggedly cut brown hair, a scared face, and cold-pitiless eyes greeted him. He'd seen this face before, in a file…it seemed far away now as he struggled against blackness, against terror, and the man's hands pulling roughly at his arms, tearing his wings as they dragged him…dragged him to Hell. He'd seen it in Vincent's memories, experienced a short taste of his own; he had no illusions about what the liquid darts meant. He was going to Hell, where sharp needles and merciless human monsters cut into him.

/_Vincent!/_ He should have reached out for his human sooner, but he hadn't been thinking clearly since the poisonous-numbness loaded his system. He couldn't bite back a whimper as one of his delicate wings caught on door frame. More rough-hands and shined-shoes came to help the cruel-eyed man..what was his name? Veld, yes, Veld the Turk Director, the one who didn't like his human.

/_Chaos?/_ Vincent's answering mind-brush was the last thing he felt before the darkness took him. He didn't have a chance to reply.

….

Vincent's clawed hand curled into a fist, the only sign of his distress. Chaos had not answered any of his increasingly desperate calls, and he was painfully aware of Veld's empty seat across from him. The Turk Director had not come to the board meeting, but that was not terribly uncommon, so Vincent had thought nothing of his absence until a few minutes ago when Chaos had called for him. There had been pain and confusion and sorrow in the brush of Chaos's mind, and then there was nothing, just a wall of darkness that terrified Vincent.

He forced his claw to relax, tighten, relax. He repeated the exercise until he felt more controlled and could speak without a shred of his inner conflict being revealed. Heidegger was up on his soap box today, and full of hot air as usual. Vincent leaned forward, the slight movement of his normally statuesque form catching Rufus's eye. Rufus motioned for Vincent to speak, cutting through Heidegger's long-winded speech.

"Mr. President, I would ask to be excused, I have a personal matter to attend to –it's urgent." He kept his voice steady, face blank.

"Wait a moment, Valentine. We will move on to the problem of the mines. I believe, as a representative of the CNO, you should hear this."

"I'm afraid the matter cannot wait, Mr. President, with all due respect." Vincent did not back down.

Rufus's eyes narrowed, "I asked you to stay, ambassador. We are not all going to rearrange our busy schedules to postpone this meeting so you can work on your personal issues."

Vincent's claw balled under the table again. Reeve was shooting him pleading looks, but he didn't acknowledge the man. His mission warred with his concern for Chaos. He couldn't walk out of here now, not unless he wanted to seriously damage his standing within Shinra. Rufus was used to having his way, and didn't take challenges to his authority lightly. But Chaos might be in danger. Or it might be nothing and Vincent could be forfeiting months of work over a false alarm. Chaos was more than capable of taking care of himself, but the lingering feel of Chaos's mind reaching out for him….

"Well, Valentine?" Rufus demanded, and Vincent had never wanted to hit the man more, with his perfect face and perfect hair and perfectly pressed white suit. Young fool, as if the boy knew anything about life or pain or want, growing up in gilded rooms and…No.

Vincent looked away. He knew next to nothing about Rufus Shinra's life or past, and should know better than to judge by appearances. He certainly didn't envy the boy his power or wealth –those things always come with a price tag—and while many things had been handed to the young man all his life, not everything could be bought, and gilded rooms could be just another way of saying: gilded cage.

It was time he started acting like a Turk and stopped being blinded by a name. Rufus was more than the name and legacy of the Shinra family, and if Vincent wanted to get the upper hand with the young President, it was time he started seeing Rufus, and not Shinra. Vincent hadn't been acting on his training, but letting the anger and pain of the past overwhelm him. He needed to go back to the basics: collecting information. It's what Turks did best; watching, observing all the little things normal people missed, and using his contacts to glean what information he could about the young man's background.

As it stood he knew almost nothing about the 'boy king,' and that was unacceptable. Rufus liked power and his little games. But where the former President Shinra would have smiled at Vincent and asked him to 'Please sit down' all the while planning to stab Vincent in the back, Rufus let the gunman know exactly where he stood. The pale eyes were cold and demanding as Rufus made his 'request,' and Vincent was left in no doubt where the consequences of refusing would lead. Rufus was all brutal honesty. He carried his power like an unsheathed Buster Sword, unlike his father who's hid it like a poisoned dagger under soft folds. Vincent could respect that, even as he gritted his teeth at the boy's arrogance.

But those were only the border pieces to the puzzle that was Rufus Shinra. What were the man's goals? What did he dream about in the dark hours of the night? Certainly Rufus wanted Shinra Inc. reborn; to emerge from the ashes of the last two wars like a phoenix from a burning, but that was only the crust of what made Rufus Shinra tick. Who was this boy who would be king of the world?

Eighteen, and born into wealth and power, in love with himself –and his dog. Vincent eyed Dark Nation. The massive hound was seated on its haunches –never far from its master's side—pink tongue lulling out between deadly canines as Rufus ran an idle hand over the beast's glossy black fur. You could tell a lot about a person by how they treated animals.

There was an underlying hatred for his father in all of Rufus's decisions, plain as day. And that was the problem: it was plain as day. Vincent didn't think Rufus really hated his father, no matter how much he pretended too. Was he repulsed by the man? Yes; and eager to separate himself from his old man's mistakes. But even while Rufus loathed his father, he couldn't quite shake the deep-seeded need to please the man, even after no doubt ordering the man's death. There was also the tint of one-up-man-ship in Rufus's actions, most likely born from a past of never being able to live up to his father's standards and earn the coveted approval. A child's yearning to step out of their father's shadow and find their place in the world. It was a simple yet powerful motivation that was threaded through some of the greatest histories of their world, and carried the seeds of change upon its breath.

It had been this very same motivation that had led to the founding of the Shinra Electric Company by the first President, Rufus's father. The Shinra family had held power in Midgar for generations, since before it was Midgar, only a collection of eight smaller cities which would bind together to create the 'Greatest' city their world had ever seen and lift the spiraling Shinra Tower from its heart. Shinra was an old, aristocratic family with a sense of entitlement as long as their hereditary noses, and the wealth and history to back it up in most circles. There had always been a Lord Shinra to hold their mansion in King's Quarter (the home of wealth and power before the building of Shinra Tower and the Plate). It was _President_ Shinra now, but the President's wife had held the title of Lady, and Rufus's would do the same were the young man ever to settle down.

The Shinra family had ruled Midgar in all but name, and the first President gave them that name. Rufus's father had been an ingenious business man and hadn't been afraid of working his 'trader's man talent', much to the displeasure of his aristocratic family. He threw all his chips into a revolutionary energy that was taking the science world by storm –Mako—and walked away with an empire. It hadn't hurt that he'd been young and handsome once, just as his son was now, and secured himself a bride and alliance with an entire country.

They had called Lady Shinra the Ice Princess, before her controversial marriage. Her father had been clan leader of the Northern Provinces, and she'd had eyes as pale a blue as her son's, and hair dark and sleek as a seal's. She'd been the making of Shinra. Her husband's rebellions ideas of seizing the world by storm and showing his father just where he could stick it, had been molded and directed in her hands. Together, the world did indeed fall at their feet. Slowly at first, a trickling of power, house-by-house, light bulb-by-light bulb, as the world became depended upon the energy Shinra Inc. provided. And then the army came. It started out as a private force, used to patrol the Midgar streets –for the citizen's good, of course—and grew until it encompassed the world.

Yes, Vincent understood the drive in Rufus's veins, and it was powerful. But coupled with Rufus's vanity, the lessons of his own superiority drilled into him from a young age, and the intoxication of power a young man who had no sense of mortality processes, made for a dangerous combination.

He wondered if Rufus Shinra even knew who he was underneath all the posturing and power plays and burning_ need_ to prove himself better than his father. Whoever he was, the ex-Turk would unearth his secrets and play the game, but not yet…He was woefully unarmed before the young President, and it left a sour taste in his mouth and a flush of embarrassment upon the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

So he shoved down his irritation at the choice Rufus was forcing upon him. He had no way of knowing if Chaos needed him still, or was in danger. What he did know was that if he turned his back on Rufus's demand now, there would be consequences, consequences that could end in war. And while Vincent wasn't a man of conscious, he did have enough to keep him in his seat, and make him pretend acceptance even as his heart was screaming at him to get up and protect his lover. This was about more than Chaos; there was Cloud and Sephiroth to consider, and what a war would mean to them. He tried to tell himself that whatever danger Chaos might or might not be in, the demon would not die; he didn't think a WEAPON could be killed. But hurt yes, injured so badly the Planet took it back, remolded it, changed it…Vincent slammed down on the thoughts. Chaos was fine. He had to be.

Vincent couldn't focus as the meeting wore on, turning to the problem of the recent strikes by the workers of the Mithril Mines. His mind kept reaching towards Chaos, again and again, hoping each time he would feel something, anything…and then he did. It must have been the longest hour of Vincent's life before he felt that faint pulse of light returning his touch. He called out to Chaos, but the demon didn't answer. Vincent wrapped himself in the feel of Chaos's faint –but existent—touch; desperate for the meeting to end, and second guessing his decision to stay for the thousandth time. If anything had happened….he'd never forgive himself.

"….It's those immigrant criminals who stirred up the problem, mark my words, it won't be the end of it. Scum like that don't ever stop." Heidegger blustered.

"Well, it's hardly a surprise," Reeve said calmly. "What did you expect to happen, sending men and women who were desperate enough to cross the borders illegally, and packing them off to enforced labor?"

"Nobody forced them to choose the mines," Algerton, Head of the new Energy Department, protested.

"No," Reeve snipped back, "It was only the mines or a prison cell."

"We need to work on an alternative for the captured illegal immigrants." Rufus cut in, "Obviously sending them to the Mithril Mines was a miscalculation, since we now have workers demanding higher pay and improved working conditions."

"Unions," Heidegger spat. "Don't ever treat with Unions. Your father had the right idea, got to show them what's what, lay down the law." Heidegger continued, oblivious to the cold stare he was receiving from the President. Rufus hated hearing about how his father had done things. "I say kick 'em all out." Heidegger pulled the cigar out of mouth, a trail of spit coming with the chewed, soggy end. "They'll be singin' a different tune after a month with no pay."

Reeve let out an exasperated breath. "That will solve nothing. The problem is they have legitimate concerns, so the fresh pack of workers you bring in will have zero experience and all the reasons to strike as these last are doing. The working conditions in the mines are inhumane and dangerous." He pressed. "Do you know how mine workers suffer from Mako related mutations in _one _year? The problem could be easily solved by providing proper safety-gear, like we do for the Mako Reactor's employees. The Mako fumes-"

"We don't have the budget to get expensive protection gear for hundreds of mine workers. The Reactor's crews are small, and have had proper training. All the safety gear in the world would mean nothing if the miners were not trained how to use it properly, and such training in time consuming and expensive." Rufus dismissed.

"And the Reactor crews are more valuable then poor mine workers," Reeve mumbled, but Vincent caught it since he was seated next to the flushed executive.

Vincent was hipper aware of the flame of Chaos's mind, even as he tried to focus on the conversations about him and forget how quickly that fire could be snuffed out.

"The problem is the borders, and these damn illegal immigrants, their troublemakers, the lot of them." Heidegger preached.

"The CNO already has twice as many Border Patrols as Shinra does. If you're so concerned, then put more men at the heavily trafficked crossing points." Vincent snapped; his stress and worry bleeding into his voice without apology. He wasn't usually so blunt –not at these board meeting consisting of greedy sycophants—in fact, he rarely said anything, but if Rufus wanted him here, then he could damn well deal with his opinion too.

There was a pause as everyone turned to stare at the usually tight-mouthed ambassador. Rufus eyed him thoughtfully a moment, then, "Perhaps that is the best option." He mused. "Reeve, I want you on the striking miners, look into less expensive ways to increase safety. Also, offer a 5% pay hike and paid holidays off. If they don't take our offer then we'll bring in more workers, but they should begin infighting when their bellies go empty. We need to crush this union, and the simplest way is too allow them to tear themselves apart."

Heidegger spluttered, "That's army troopers who'll be doing the patrols, and it won't be cheap, Mr. President."

"It wouldn't be half as expensive if you utilized your budget and resources properly," Lazard sneered, crisply-clean white gloves interlaced before him as he leaned his elbows on the table.

Heidegger bristled at the accusation, "How dare-"

"Quite easily, _sir_," Lazard goaded the heavy man whose face was now turning an unflattering shade of beet-red. Palmer snickered, the craven man's watery-eyes darting between the two Directors like a rat sniveling up to the larger predator in order to beg scraps from a kill.

Lazard ignored him, intent upon taking Heidegger apart, piece-by-piece, but Rufus broke up his half-brother's fun before he could dance circles about the blustering Head of Public Safety. "The rising rate of immigration is destabilizing our economy and worrying our investors and the market. We need to take strong action. From now on, anyone caught crossing the border into the CNO illegally will be shot on sight. No more prison time or tickets to the mines. This ends now. Double, no, triple the Border Patrols. See its done Heidegger."

The President's words were met by a shocked silence. Heidegger now looked sickeningly pleased by the hard-line Rufus was taking. Lazard's face was impassive, though he was probably disagreeing with Rufus's stance internally, if only for the sake of disagreeing. Reeve's brow was lined –the man didn't take care to hide his emotions, and distress was written plainly on his face—but all Vincent cared about was that the meeting would be over soon.

….

By the time Vincent made it back to their rooms it had been hours since he'd first lost contact with Chaos. His clothes were sticky with cold sweat, his claw twitching uncontrollably at his side as the tension and worry crowding his mind all afternoon sought escape. He dashed through the apartment, calling for Chaos, but the trembling hope of finding the demon within was quickly crushed as nothing but empty, silent rooms answered him. He stood panting out his coiled stress for a long minute, telling himself not to panic; he didn't know anything for sure. But he couldn't get the memory of Chaos reaching for him, _needing him_, out of his mind. His lover had needed him, and he hadn't come. He hadn't come.

The gauntlet cut into his hair line, causing little rivers of blood to drip down his ash-white face as he buried it in the cold metal. He hadn't come. Chaos had needed him and he'd abandoned him. Why could he never make the right choices? His life was a tapestry of mistake after mistake. There was a reason he'd locked himself in that box, why he'd not come out for twenty-two years, and it was more than just an act of repentance. He hadn't thought he could bear anymore mistakes, or stand under the weight of regret that bent him like a millstone about his neck. All he ever seemed to do was fail the people he loved. And so he had locked himself away from the world, for surly it would be a better place without him. He had no illusions about what he was; his sins stretched so much farther than his failure to save Lucrecia, that his thoughts ran back again and again to this sin was only a mark of his selfishness.

He'd been a Turk for a decade; a bloody decade of murders stacking up about him until he'd not even bothered with the body counts. Vincent Valentine was not a good man. But after Lucreica, after love (obsession) had stripped him down to the stone he'd ironed over his heart and taken to it like an ice pick to a glacier, he'd been laid naked and shieldless under an unbearably white light that shone on him, into him, and he'd not been able to run from what he was any longer. He had accepted what Hojo had done to him as his deserved punishment; for it was only the reflection of what he'd known lay beneath a pretty face for years.

But not even locking himself, the monster in face and deed and soul, away, had been the right choice. He'd left Sephiroth, _his son_, to be raised in hell by the devil himself. Mistake, Sin. He'd climbed out of the box, and met a fragile child, and then hurt him too. Mistake, Sin. And now, he'd failed his lover, his deepest friend, and chosen –chosen deliberately—not to help him when Chaos's had needed it most. Mistake, Sin.

The tapestry of his life.

Even now he wavered, dilly-dallying with self-pity when Gaia only knew what Chaos was suffering. Vincent swallowed, wiping the trails of blood off his face, tightening the knot of his red headband, and brushing his fingertips across the reassuring, cold metal of Cerberus. He was going to find Chaos and bring him home. And that could never be a mistake.

Vincent walked back to his room with a firm, determined step, his hips swaying to the rhythm of coming battle. It took him a few minutes of digging to locate the PHS Cloud had purchased for him. He rarely used it, but this would be one of those times.

Several frustrating moments later, where he wrestled with the temperamentally little thing, he had Tseng on the line. "Tseng, I need some information." His voice was clipped with the haste buzzing under his skin.

"Vincent?" Tseng didn't keep the surprise out of his greeting. Vincent never called.

"Do you know where Veld is?" He cut to the quick of it.

A pause. "No. Do you want me to look into it?"

"Yes. Tseng…what we were worried about, it might have happened." He wouldn't say more over the phone, but Tseng didn't need him to.

"I see. I'll look into it."

"Soon, Tseng," and a little of the pounding worry fell into the request.

"I understand," Tseng answered, the promise of immediate action ringing in the words.

"Thank-you," Vincent didn't wait for a reply before ending the call, and diving into another battle with the phonebook for Cloud's number.

The call rang to voicemail and Vincent swore. He'd been so preoccupied with what could be happening to Chaos that he hadn't even considered Veld moving against Cloud. The Turk Director had never shown any interest in Cloud, whether because of his low rank in the CNO, or the protection the boy's relationship with two high-standing SOLDIERs afforded him, Vincent didn't know. He hadn't thought-

The phone rang. Cloud's name was on the caller ID, "Cloud?"

"Vincent?" Cloud sounded a little breathless. "Sorry, I'm training with Zack, and didn't hear you call at first. What's wrong?" Of course the boy would assume something was wrong, after all, Vincent never called.

"Nothing, maybe nothing, when was the last time you saw Chaos?"

"Chaos? Um…maybe a couple days, we don't really run into each other much…" Vincent could almost hear Cloud biting his lip.

"That's fine, just, call me if you see him?" He didn't want to alarm the boy any more then he no doubt was. If he told Cloud Chaos might have been taken, then the boy would try to come with him, and that was the last thing Vincent wanted.

"Vincent? What's going on?" Cloud demanded.

"Nothing, I'll talk to you later." Vincent hung up on the boy's cry of protest, and ignored three more calls, until finally the boy gave up.

He set the phone down on the table in front of him, and stared at it a few long minutes before scooping it up and heading for the Turk floor. He couldn't just sit around and wait for Tseng to find something out.

Vincent had only been to Tseng's office a few times, they had kept most of their meeting discreet, not wanting to start any questions. Tseng called for him to enter after only one knock, and Vincent entered to find the young Commander shuffling through papers at his desk. The dark-red carpet swallowed up the sound of his boot's approach. Tseng finally glanced up when Vincent was almost level with the massive desk. The generous light from the floor-length windows caught in his eyes, bringing out the almond highlights beneath the dominate obsidian hue.

Tseng made no comment on Vincent's arrival, merely motioning him to one of the chairs. "You believe Veld has taken him." It was not a question, nor a challenge, Tseng knew exactly how likely that possibly might be.

"Yes. And Hollander too maybe, neither were at the board meeting this afternoon."

"How long has he been missing, do you know?"

Vincent looked down, "Three, almost four hours I would guess."

Tseng nodded, entwining his hands atop the desk. "I have not been able to ascertain Veld's whereabouts, nor several of the other Turks." The reality of the words hung in the air a long moment. "We do not know where Veld is or even if he defiantly had a hand in this. Are you sure, absolutely sure, the…Chaos is missing?"

"Yes." The word was heavy on Vincent's tongue.

"He could be out of the Tower, down in the slums…flying?" The word was foreign on Tseng's lips, a strange expression on his face as he tasted it as if never considering the fact that the demon could fly before that moment. It was just so…bizarre, so inhuman, and yet such a….liberating thought. Vincent was intimately familiar with the exact thought process even now circling Tseng's brain, he'd shared them himself once upon a time.

"No, he would have…we have a way of contacting each other in emergencies," Vincent hedged. "He has not responded. And when I last…spoke to him, it felt, he sounded distressed."

"I see." Tseng said. "I have Reno and Rude looking into it. They might be able to dig something up. As I said, I don't think Veld was acting alone; one of the other Turks might leak something." As if by the hand of god, there was a knock at the door that very moment, and when Tseng called an 'enter,' Eliot, one of the Turks Tseng had sorted into Veld's camp, stepped through.

The woman had short coal-black hair and hazel eyes. She was older than many of the other Turks, being at least thirty, though even she did not know her exact age. Her parents had died when she was just a child, killed when Shinra expanded its empire into the fiercely independent North Coral area, and she'd been forced to survive on her own. She was level-headed, with a generous dose of street sense; she'd needed it, growing up on the streets, unlike many of her co-workers who hailed from affluent homes where they'd received the best education money could buy. Elliot was barely literate, having dropped out of school when he parent's died, but she didn't let this weakness hold her back.

Her face betrayed years of hard living. She was not beautiful, her jaw was strong like a man's, hair framed her face in lanky strips, but when she smiled her eyes would lit up, honest and clear, and her hard lips would shape a smile more beautiful than all the syrupy-red ones of the handsome, cold beauties adorning Shinra executive's arms.

Elliot only hesitated a moment after catching sight of Vincent, before pulling the door firmly shut behind her. She didn't move any further into the room, instead pulling out one of her many knives, and began paying with the deadly toy in an obviously nervous gesture.

"Eliot," Tseng greeted with a slight incline of his head, waiting for the woman to start what she had obviously come to say.

"Tseng," she began finally, her finger smoothing over the voluptuous curve of her blade in a feathery light caress. "You know I joined the Turks too do good. I never wanted another child to grow up like me, alone; it's been years since I was disillusioned. I know what Shinra is, and I've done my fair share of morally questionable things, but there is a line." She tucked her knife back into its sheath, and straightened. "We Turks have traded ghost stories about the Science Department, as you know Tseng, to scare the new recruits or the boys trying to get a rise out of the girls. I didn't want to believe them, none of us did." A beat of silence, "Veld had me on a mission today, I helped him deliver a body to the labs." Vincent stiffened. "And…there were _things_…in the tanks. Things that were human once. I've seen a lot of things, done a lot of things, but…not this. This just ain't right, Tseng." Determination and despair shone in her eyes. "I thought…it wasn't supposed to be like this."

"I know." And the words said everything, encompassing every lost scrape of humanity that had fallen away, peel by peel, mission after mission, kill by kill.

"The body," Vincent searched her face, wanted to know for sure, and yet dreading the verbal conformation of all his fears. "Who was it?"

"Your General," and the words hit Vincent like a blow. "I don't know what happened, what they did…Veld called, and Rodeo, he was dead. Veld had me take the body to the labs, and that's all I know."

"Thank-you Eliot, you have my word your involvement will not pass our lips." Tseng promised.

Eliot nodded, glancing one last time at Vincent before leaving, trying to apologize without words for her part in the mission –something she had never done as a Turk before.

"Vincent," Tseng called, halting Vincent as he turned to leave, red eyes burring with the wrath of a god come down for judgment day. "If you do this, it will be the end of everything we've worked for these last months."

"Maybe not," Vincent answered quietly, "But if it is, then he's worth it."

A pause, "Then I'm going with you. This is Shinra's doing, and it should be Shinra cleaning up their own folly."

"No. You have to stay here, and the other Turks as well. You can't be involved. Veld will be there, and Turk brothers and sisters. I would not ask this of you, or of them."

Tseng looked down, his fingers running over the edge of a folder. "So, you'll go alone?"

"Yes."

"Then Good luck, Vincent Valentine." A breath, "And…" but the proud Turk could not finish the request, but Vincent already knew what he would ask.

"I know. He was my partner once too, even if we clashed at times, he still always had my back. There was a time I trusted him with my life, and the same for him."

Tseng's dark eyes were grateful as they met Vincent's solemn ones again. "Then I will just have to have your back this time. Don't worry about the alarms; I'll take care of it." Vincent gave Tseng a fleeting smile which the Turk Commander answered, before seeing himself out.

….

Vincent went back to the apartment first. Quickly, he packed up their possessions –Cloud's too—and was thankful they were all military and knew how to pack light. He made sure to gather medical supplies, not knowing how severely injured Chaos might be, as well as food and water for several days. They would be fleeing Midgar tonight. He wanted them safely within the CNO borders within the week, but it would hinge on how long it took them to smuggle onto a ship in Junon, headed for the North Continent. From there they could travel by foot across the border, ironically enough. It would depended how badly injured Chaos was, and how heavily Shinra pursued them. Perhaps Rufus would let them go; it all came down to how much the young President wanted to avoid a war, and how many important people Vincent killed while freeing Chaos.

All those wasted hours…his metal fist slammed into the soft bed, causing the half-packed bag to jump. And it all came out the same in the end. He should have walked out of that meeting, should have told Rufus to fuck himself, and the whole damn world, and war too, and peace… He swallowed, pushing past the anger, wrapping the regret up and shoving it deep into his soul where it would find many bedfellows, until Vincent could deal with it. He didn't have time for it now.

He finished zipping up the bag and hauled it into the sitting room, setting it down next to a small pile of others. He wished he could call Cloud and have the boy ready to leave at a moment's notice, but Cloud would try to come with him. Vincent was going into Hell, and he didn't want Cloud anywhere near it. He knew very well that he might be going to his death, so be it, but he didn't want to bring his son with him.

One last stop and he'd be ready to rescue Chaos. It was dark now, the hazy-sun long set. Chaos had been taken hours ago, and all Vincent could do was hope the demon hadn't suffered too greatly. It was too late for anything else.

Vincent arrived at his Hand's door –only a few corners down from his own—and knocked. Elena swung the door open, toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, and her short fair-hair spilling out of a messy pony-tail. She made an abortive movement halfway between pulling the toothbrush out, and crossing her arms over her braless chest. Vincent wondered why she'd opened the door in such an undressed state, but he made sure to keep his eyes focused on her face, and not the pink-satin nightgown molding to her small chest and revealing the tautness of her nipples.

"Ah, boss, hi," she settled on one arm over her chest, and using the other to pull the toothbrush free. "Thought you were Jessie, sorry, she went to get us pizza." She chattered nervously.

"I apologize for disturbing you, but it's urgent. I can wait out here while you change." He suggested. Heat flushed her freckled cheeks, and she gave him a quick nod before slamming the door.

He only stood in the empty hallway a moment before Jessie rounded the corner, pizza box balanced precariously as she fumbled with her wallet, trying not to drop the soda she'd tucked into her elbow. "Fuck," she swore when she caught sight of him, brown eyes widening. He seemed to be getting many fond greetings tonight.

"Sorry, boss, just wasn't expecting you. Here can you hold this?" She shoved the pizza box at him and finished stuffing her wallet into the back of her baggy jeans. Vincent mutely held the box, though the overwhelming smell of saturated cheese and fatty sausage revolted his sensitive noise. "Do you need me to let you in?" Jessie asked as she took the offending box back.

"Elena's changing."

"Gotcha, so what's up boss?"

Vincent looked pointedly around the hall and Jessie was suddenly all Hand, hearing the loud and clear message of 'not here.'

The apartment door swung open again, and Elena ushered them in. She'd changed into her Hand uniform: pressed grey shirt that buttoned across the right breast in a neat row of red buttons –as a tribute to their scarlet caped leader—tucked into a thick belt holding up grey-wool pants that were stuffed into high-boots and puffing out slightly around the knees.

Ryquendë had chosen to dress the Hands in grey, much like the Knights who worn long-sleeved grey-knit tops with black pants. If she could have gotten away with it, Vincent thought she would have garbed the Hands in gaudy silver, but while he didn't care what his Hands wore for the most part, there was a limit. It was the Hands themselves who chose the red buttons. It was a badge of loyalty among them, and a form of initiation. They all had to hand sew the red buttons onto their uniform themselves.

"So, boss what's up?" Jessie asked as she set the cooling pizza down, and absently wiped greasy hands on her shirt. Vincent half expected her hands to leave the baggy T-shirt stained with oil-grease, so often had he seen Jessie perform this exact gesture as she crawled out from under a truck, or finished oiling a gun. "Huh?" Jessie had noticed his staring, and began playing fretfully with one of her frizzy curls, her homely face smiling nervously under his intense scrutiny.

"Just thinking," he said, calming the agitated girl, before giving them a serious look. "I want you both to pack your things as quickly as possible and make your way out of the city. Don't tell anyone, and be discreet. I've got a job to do, but I'll contact you. You're going to have to be on your guard. Don't trust anyone, especially not Shinra."

Jessie's eyes were wide. "Are we at war again? Is it the border? What happened?"

"Nothing yet, but that's why I want you to get out, and as quickly as you can."

Elena's hands were on her hips. "No way, boss. We're not leaving without you."

"I'll meet you in a few hours." Vincent tried to side-stepped.

Elena gave him a hard look from behind the sweep of ice-pale bangs. "We've both been with you for years, boss, and I know that look in your eyes. You're going to battle, and we're going with you." She tilted her pointy chin up, daring Vincent to deny her.

"She's right, boss," Jessie agreed. "If its Shinra you're fighting, you'll have to tie me up or I'll just follow right behind you. We're in this together."

Vincent bowed his head. He had not wanted to bring anyone else into this, but he knew his girls –they would come one way or another—and he couldn't pretend he wouldn't need the back-up.

….

The elevator doors pinged open and Vincent inched forward first, signally the girls behind him as he searched the heavy shadows of the science floor landing. The great metal doors of the labs were sealed shut, and the receptionist desk stood empty, which was no surprise given the late hour.

Elena peered out behind him, "Anything?" She whispered, leaning close to his ear.

He didn't respond yet, unnatural eyes weighing the shadows among shadows. Then, "Two O'clock, male, Turk."

"Can you tell who it is?" Jessie breathed as she worked to jam the elevator doors and keep the thing from going down.

Vincent hummed, looking the blocky man over. There were only two Turks with that sold muscular build, and Rude would never betray Tseng. "Texas."

"I can take him," Elena hissed, her shotgun cradled in her hands, and Vincent didn't doubt her. Texas was a skilled enough martial artist, but not one of the best –a little slow in the above neck capacity.

"He won't be alone," Vincent caution, never looking away from the ominous dark hall before them.

"Are you going to hide in there all night, Valentine?" Veld's mocking voice called as he stepped out the shadows to stand openly before them. "Going to shoot me now, old partner?"

"I always was the better shot," Vincent called back, but with none of the spit infecting Veld's words.

"Perhaps we'll put it to a test." Veld challenged.

"I'd rather not."

"Scared?" Veld smirked at him.

"I have other business." Vincent replied coolly.

"Ah, yes, your pet beast," and now Veld's needling dug under the skin, and Vincent's grip upon Cerberus tightened. "I knew you'd come for him, you know. A little faster them I thought, you certainly do keep tight tabs on your pet, but then I suppose you like to have him at your…disposal."

Vincent drew a sharp breath. Veld couldn't know, no one knew. Yet somehow the Turk Director did, it oozed out of the leering smile the man now gave Vincent. "Like to keep him chained under the desk, hum? Your little secret, always at hand when you need a talented mouth. But then you always did have a weakness of gifted tongues, didn't you? Like that scientist, the one you wanted so badly. I heard so many good things about her from _so many_ men."

Elena was very still beside him, she'd not tuned to look at him, but he could feel her watching him even without her eyes, her whole body attuned to his. Vincent was shaking with rage inside, but he held it in, held it tight, trapping it against the pain of Veld's words and the shame and the still desperate cries to hurry, hurry, because Chaos needed him. Chaos who he was allowing Veld to slander so grossly, but he held his tongue, kept his silence. Manic-light lit his old partner's eyes, challenging his words was exactly what the man wanted, and Vincent didn't have time for a war of words.

Elena turned to look at him, eyes soft in the face of Vincent's vulnerability, and yet still sharp as blades with the fire of her determination. "Want me to sock him for you, boss?"

Vincent smiled wanly, "I can handle it." He glanced over his shoulder at Jessie, "You girls ready?"

Jessie twirled her semi-automatic pistol in the air, "Let me at 'em, boss."

"Well Valentine?" Veld asked, impatience now coloring his voice, which was good: let him act rashly.

"Hold," Vincent whispered, giving Veld the extra minute needed to reveal his hand, which he did. The Turk had gotten sloppy in old age, or maybe it was just the prospect of finally crossing rounds with Vincent that made him move prematurely.

"Texas, Anita, go." Veld ordered.

The muscular man walked into the open, military cut hair accentuating the box of his face. A tall, willowy woman followed him, her hands flexing in leather gloves. Anita was good, but she knew it. Born into wealth and beauty, she had a permanent snooty look fixed upon her face, and the overconfidence that was the downfall of many better men and woman before her.

"I'll take that bitch down a peg," Jessie cracked her knuckles. But Vincent wasn't confident his Hand could; Jessie's strength did not lay on the battlefield but in the attack unlooked for –bombs.

"Be careful," Vincent grunted, before moving swift and silent as a mountain cat to answer Veld's challenge.

Veld let him come, and Vincent didn't stop until he could look into the painfully unfamiliar brown eyes. Veld, where have you gone? Never was he more aware of the drastic changes time had dealt his former partner then at this moment. Was this really the man who had delivered his Chaos into the hands of a scientist?

Veld flexed his prostatic arm, the scar on his cheek twisting about his welcomeless grin. Veld had lost much to Shinra, but so had Vincent. He supposed their difference stood in the way they dealt with that loss. Vincent turned all his pain inward, letting the ugliness of it gorge itself upon its creator. And Veld pushed all his pain onto others, dealing out blame, and signally Vincent out as the sole cause for the sorrow and guilt the man could not bear to carry on his own shoulders. Veld had lived many years under the shadow of what he had done –the knowledge that he had killed his own wife and child in the cause of Shinra expansion—but instead of turning away from the company that had been the source of his grief, he had embraced it. He lost himself to the job first, and then –when the guilt became too much—he found a target in Vincent, and spewed all his pain upon him, not able to bare it himself any longer.

"It should have been you." Veld's face twisted in hate. "You should have died, not my Felicia, my little girl. Why did you have to come back to life when she's still dead?"

Vincent had no answer. He would have told Veld that his daughter was better off where she was, then living the existence of the half-dead, but Veld wouldn't understand –he'd never died.

Veld snarled and shot the first round. Vincent dodged easily, dancing away from the bullet's path, but he did not fire back. How could he? Even after everything Veld had done, after Chaos…still he was Vincent's partner once upon a time, and he'd promised Tseng. He wouldn't hurt Veld unless there was no other way. He only needed to keep Veld distracted while Elena and Jessie brought down the other Turks.

But it was not too be. Veld was yelling at him to 'fight, damn you, you coward!' when he saw Jessie fall. Anita, the female Turk, had broken Jessie's neck with a sickening crack that seemed to echo though the dark hall. Elena let out a cry of grief and war, and charged Texas like a wild cat, shooting off round after round until she caught the man in the gut and then blew off his head.

Vincent couldn't let Elena face the murderer of her friend in such a state, so he engaged the woman himself. Twisting around the stream of Veld's bullets, he caught the female in the right thigh –she stumbled—and Elena was there the next moment to take Jessie's revenge.

"Valentine!" Veld cried, "Face me like a man, stop pussy-footing around."

Vincent fired. He didn't want to kill Veld, but it looked like he'd at least have to wound the man to get him to back down. And so they danced. Vincent ordered Elena to step down when she tried to back him up; the girl had a cold, wounded look in her eyes –the look of Death's Reaper—and he didn't want Veld to die.

A bullet grazed Vincent's arm as he aimed for Veld's own, and his hand jerked in mid-shot. Veld flattered, fell to his knees, grasping at his chest, and slouched to the floor with a cry.

He hadn't meant to. It had been a mistake, a mistake that would cost Veld his life. Vincent sunk to his knees beside Veld, pulling out a potion and Cure materia. His hands steady, feeling detached; he'd performed these same acts for countless others. He couldn't look at the gaping hole in Veld's chest. Cerberus was amply named, and at that close of range…

Vincent cupped the back of Veld's head, holding it up as he poured the useless potion down. He funneled his power through the materia even knowing it would not be enough, but having to try anyway.

"Vincent?" Veld chocked; his eyes so painfully familiar now, honey-brown and clear with the light of approaching death.

Vincent remembered the first time they'd met, both green recruits. Everything was so new then. Even Shinra still had a squeaky clean name, no whispers of human experimentation or corrupted executives. The world was fresh and sweet as Vincent looked at it though the rose-tinted glasses of youth. They had been young men together when all the world seemed ripe for their mastery, and Midgar was the hope of that world (a mirror of what Rocket Town had become for this generation of revolutionaries).

Midgar had meant safety and hope, once. Shinra had promised them a New World, one without fear or war. And they had flocked to her, to the strong steel of her arms, and the might of her army at their back. Vincent had only been a child when Shinra Inc. had risen to ride the world, but he could still remember the stark fear of those days, a dark shadow staining his childhood, and inevitably leading him to seeking out the power the Turks amplified.

Migrants had flooded Midgar, as they now did Rocket Town, desperate to escape the sky rocketing monster populations no one seemed able to explain. They had come, tracking across a wilderness teaming with monsters, and following roads no longer secure, to reach the fabled protection Midgar boasted. The migrants had packed up and left the pockets of civilization that had once harbored them, but were no match against the growing monster attacks. They left behind the city-states of dictatorships, clan rulers, or democracies and the legacy of a thousand petty wars fought for land and resources.

Shinra had brought the world stability, even as it wove its destruction, one ounce of pumped Mako at a time. Security could be bought now, in ordered little suburban homes up on the Plate, or in the towns fortified by the troops Shinra commanded. Shinra had offered lives free of fear and full of the comfort of easy energy for thousands, and it had cost even more in poverty and powerlessness. But no state was utopian, and protection always had a price, though it wasn't always worth it.

Few were left who remembered the days of Shinra's youth. When a young, charismatic couple nurtured in the cradle of wealth and dreams of grandeur, had raided the world and plundered her like a virginal sacrifice. Today the world was populated by the young and ignorant, and pre-Shinra history had been blotter out like a bad memory.

Vincent was fifty-six years old, over half a century, and from a generation of the short-lived. If he had been human, if this body were more than a frozen shell corrupted by Hojo's twisted mind and clawing grins, he would have grey hairs now, and wrinkles about his mouth and eyes; maybe he'd be suffering from arthritis as he sat a granddaughter upon his creaking knees and told her a much embellished tale of his 'glory days.' Or maybe he'd be dead, caught by a bullet as age bent and slowed him. What did it matter? He'd received far more then he deserved: two sons to be proud of, and a lover and friend that eclipsed any portrayed in the fairy tales of childhood, for Chaos was_ real_, and Chaos was _his_. He was blessed. He'd suffered, oh how he'd suffered, but he'd survived and been given a second chance at life.

Vincent looked down upon the man he'd know and served alongside a lifetime ago, and felt the desolation that was Veld's life, a life that could easily have been his. Veld had lost, but unlike Vincent, had nothing to fill the ever-bleeding wound caused by that sundering.

"I am here," Vincent's human hand combed the choppy brown bangs out of Veld's eyes. He looked at the graying strands with fresh astonishment. Where had all these years gone?

"Tell Tseng-" blood bubbled up from ruined lungs, chocking off the words.

"I will," Vincent promised.

"No," Veld's remaining human hand scratched at him, and Vincent grasped it with his own metalless one. "Tell him….sorry. Should have…been…'m sorry." The lines in the weathered face smoothed a little as if a great weight had been lifted from Veld's chest. He took a few more struggling breaths, every one sounding as painful as a newborn fighting for its first breath. Then, "Felicia?" There was such trembling hope in the word Vincent had to look away, his hand spasmming in Veld's crushing grip. The light died from Veld's eyes as Vincent turned back, but a tender smile played upon the man's lips as he thought he'd seen his long lost daughter one last time.

Gently Vincent closed the empty eyes and rested the slackened hand against Veld's mangled chest. Veld was at peace now, and Vincent found himself hoping –more then he'd ever hoped before—that he'd been wrong about death, and nothingness wasn't all that waited there. It was such a cruel, cold fate. To toil upon Gaia's surface, to love and lose and suffer and experience joy, and have it all mean nothing in the end. To lose one's very self to the collective of the Lifestream, just made everything seem so pointless.

He'd seen the power of the Planet with his own eyes, seen her dole out judgment upon the oath breaking witch, but he'd also seen ruthlessness in her dealing with Chaos. Nothing had matter but her own survival. Could Gaia be heartless enough to only offer oblivion for the dead? Yes. But she also sought justice, and Vincent didn't think such an end was fair for Veld or his daughter or wife, and so many others who died in loneliness and sorrow. The Cetra believed in the Promised Land, the Kagalbi believed Paradise awaited the dead, human's believed many things, but it was a nice thought –life after death—comforting. He might never get a chance to see for himself –he wasn't sure if his body could died after everything Hojo had done to it—but he wanted to believe such an end awaited his sons when their time came. Maybe he would meet them in death one day, and discover the mystery's answer for himself –for a second time—and find there were some mysteries he had not been meant to remember.

Vincent rose and walked to Elena who was crouched next to Jessie's body. Elena brushed a lock of Jessie's messy curls out of unseeing eyes before leaning forward and placing a kiss upon her brow. Vincent turned away, giving her a private moment with her fallen partner.

His red eyes settled on the sealed lab doors. "Get her out of here, Elena." He ordered, deftly loading more rounds into Cerberus.

Elena stood, meeting him with hard eyes. "I'm not leaving you, boss. We have a mission to finish." Her hand was white about the hilt of her shotgun.

Vincent nodded wordlessly and walked to the electric pad controlling the metal doors. They were soundproof and some of the strongest in the building, designed to keep the monsters behind the doors in at all costs, as well as the screams. Vincent's metal hand tore into the control panel, ripping out wires that his human hand nimbly crossed and re-wired until he'd triggered the emergency evacuation mechanism, and the double doors slid wide-open.

Vincent stalked in like an angel of death, blood-red clock billowing behind him. The harsh lights were whirling at full-capacity, and lab assistants still bustling about. Clearly Hollander was working his assistants hard; he had a new specimen after all. Vincent's hand clenched about the dark metal of Cerberus, feeling the walls boxing him in. The blaring white walls, the swirl of white lab coats, the clinical scents, and beeping of the lab equipment, all still haunted his nightmares, and he was assaulted by a tide of memories.

A droopy eyed man with salt-pepper hair hurried up to Vincent and Elena. "This is a secure area. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Vincent lifted Cerberus. A space of a heartbeat where the man's face had time to morph into terror, but not enough to duck, before he learned of his own mortality by way of a cold, unforgiving bullet to the brain.

And so it continued. Elena was white-faced and grim at his side as they cut through the colorless coats. The pristine rooms of Hell filled with screams and the begging of the petrified –too frightened even to run—and cries of "Security! Where the fuck is security?" But the lights did not flash red and the panic alarms malfunctioned and no security came, because Tseng said he'd take care of it, and the Turk was a man of his word. It didn't matter if some of these people were innocent. It didn't matter that Vincent had set himself up as God and Executioner, killing them one after another. All that mattered was the color of their coats and the memories ringing in his ears, blinding him; the need throbbing in his bones to hold his lover, his brother, his friend, his Chaos. And tear the hands that dared to touch and hurt what was his away –skin, muscle, and bone—rend and crush and grind until they could never hurt Chaos again.

It was Vincent who found the demon, his great wings stretched to a painful degree by the steel cords binding them. He lay on his stomach, face turned away, back already showing the signs of Hollander's eager work –they hadn't wasted any time—lacerations and a field of needles marred the exposed back, showing where the scientists had dissected him like an animal.

Slowly, Vincent walked forward, his mind reaching out, his ears mute to the screams and pleading of the dying at his back. /_Chaos_/

The demon moaned, his head lifting slightly, /_Vincent?/_

Vincent placed a hand on the strong shoulder, just above the damaged flesh, but Chaos flinched away. /_Shh, it's me_/ he soothed.

Chaos turned his head, hissing with the pain. /_Vincent?/_ He called again, his mind a scramble of confusion. Vincent could feel the sluggish pulse of a drug clouding the demon's mind.

Vincent hummed, gently stroking down Chaos's arm as he examined the open wounds; they did not appear as deep as he'd first thought. /_Tell me if the pain become too much_/ He cautioned as his hand moved to begin the slow labor of working the needles out, and coaxing the flesh into knitting with the help of potions and materia. It was fortunate none of the wounds cut to bone, just scraping the surface of what the scientists had in store. The greatest inhibition was the drug still floating in Chaos's system. Vincent carefully cut the over-extended wings down, and helped Chaos to sit up. The flesh was red and thin on the demon's back where new skin and tissues struggled to re-grow.

"Boss," Elena skidded into the room, blood and guts splatter her uniform, and matting in her short pale-hair. He eyes widened as she saw Chaos's battered form, "Uhh…"

"Elena?" Vincent drew her eyes back to him.

"Some of the scientists tried to run, but Jessie had the elevator doors jammed good, and I got them on the stairs. Um…" Vincent waited patiently for her to continue, "There are_ things_ in the tanks…"

Vincent looked down, silent for a long moment, then, "You did well Elena. As for the…subjects, there is nothing we can do. We don't have time to assess the measure of their humanity." The words were bitter-acid on his tongue. He'd once been one of these_ things_, but getting his people out alive had to be his number one priority.

Elena bit her lip, but she nodded.

"Hollander?" Vincent asked.

Elena shook her head, "I haven't seen him, but maybe he left the labs before we came?"

Vincent looked back at Chaos's healing form, the demon's hazy eyes tracking their conversation as well as he could. "No," the demon slurred. "He was…here."

The gunman turned back to Elena, "We will deal with him. Do you think you can get Jessie and yourself out?"

"Yeah, boss," loss settled heavily upon Elena's shoulders again.

"Then go, get out of the Tower, find somewhere to lay low in the slums. I'll contact you when we're out."

"But boss," Elena tried to protest.

Vincent cut her off, "No, I don't want us slowing you down. I still have to get Cloud, and…" he looked over at Chaos's unsteady figure. "Just go, Elena. That's an order."

"Yes, sir," Elena snapped a salute before leaving, clearly torn, but following her Commander's judgment.

The clicking of Elena's running footsteps had just pattered out when Vincent was startled by his PHS's ring. Cautiously he pulled it out, 'Cloud' flashed on the caller ID. "Cloud?" He answered, praying nothing was wrong.

"Vincent, why are our bags packed?" Cloud's no-nonsense question cut straight to the point.

The gunman hesitated, glancing at Chaos who was watching him back, the shadows steadily clearing for his eyes, "Because we're leaving Cloud."

"Hey, at least you still have the booze!" Zack Fair's voice floated through from Cloud's side.

Vincent stiffened, "Fair's there?"

"Yeah," a pause, and then Cloud said quietly, "He's not going to say anything, alright? Just tell me what's going on."

"Come up to the labs, you'll have to take the stairs. I'll speak to you when you get here. Bring your weapons, and don't tell anyone, not even Fair." Vincent cautioned, his voice unyielding steel.

"Alright, I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Cloud, be careful."

A beat, "I understand." And the line went dead.

/_Vincent_/ Chaos called him away from staring at the phone. /_Thy human child can take care of himself. Stop fretting like an old woman, and help me up_/

Vincent let out a shaky breath, half laugh half huff, at the demon's demands, but he moved to wrap his arm about Chaos's waist and help him find his feet.

A sudden scuffling noise in the next room stopped them cold. Chaos's head snapped about, his nose lifting as he scented the air. A low rumble started deep in his belly and broke into a feral snarl as it breached his lips. His eyes dilated with rage, "Hollander!" The word tore from his lungs, sharp as a hunter's spear, whipping through the air in a tidal-wave of furry.

The sound of breaking glass and a terrified squeak followed on the heels of the demon's cry. "I'm armed! I have a b-bomb!" Hollander yelled back shakily. "I'll-I'll use it, you hear? I am not afraid to use it if you try to k-kill me!"

Chaos stumbled to his feet, claws digging into Vincent's shoulder as he hauled himself up, abused wings tearing at the air as he fought to keep his balance. "Chaos!" Vincent warned.

"No, he's mine," Chaos growled.

A sunburst of power built about Chaos, twisting in long sinuous ropes of flaming light, glowing red-purple with magic-laced hate. The waves of power condensed, tightening into a sphere of violet fire, encasing them in the heat of its heart. Chaos crushed Vincent against him, tucking the slightly shorter male against his chest, massive wings coming about to cradle them a moment before the avalanche of Chaos's power exploded, bathing Vincent's vision in dazzling, blinding color. It scorched his skin with an echo of the fire burring just behind the protective wall of Chaos's wings.

When the storm of Chaos's wrath had passed, the demon's heavy body sagged against Vincent, drained from the glorious, ravenous, display of power. "Dammit, Chaos," Vincent's arms strained under the weight, angry the demon had wasted precious energy, and relieved Hollander had been dealt with so quickly and efficiently.

"I had to kill him," Chaos stirred against him, getting his breath back.

"Well, you didn't have to make it so dramatic," Vincent gripped, but there was no real censure in his words.

Chaos grunted. "Thou art hardly one to talk of dramatics, Vincent," his eyes running from Vincent's high-collared, tattered, scarlet cloak, to bronzed-metal pointed boots. Vincent proceeded to ignore the comment.

The walk was slow and stumbling as they left the decimated labs. Hollander's office was nothing but a scorched shell, the scientist a lump of burnt flesh melting into the floor. Fire-torched bodies littered the floor, and the walls were stained black where the magic induced flames had licked. Lab equipment sizzled and sparked, and the floor was slippery with Mako from exploded tanks. They passed more than one released specimen as they made their way to the gapping double doors. Some of them were stirring too, opening their eyes dazedly to the breath of freedom. Some of the eyes burned like stars –more Mako then blood in their veins—some were clearly inhuman, bestial, the minds behind twisted past redemption. Others still shone with humanity, though shadowed with an unmeasureable suffering.

Vincent wanted to help these few. He was not a man of conscious, but it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done to walk past these suffering souls, reflecting his own eyes back at him. But he placed Chaos and Cloud above them; their lives were more important than these poor creature's pain. There was nothing he could do, delaying to make them more comfortable and ease their anguish, would accomplish nothing in the end. For when Shinra came, they would be locked back in their tanks, and Vincent's soft-heart would cause Chaos and Cloud to be there floating beside them in the green wastes of Mako.

When they'd finally escaped the labs, Vincent helped Chaos lean his weight against the wall. His gaze swept over the dead Turk bodies, lingering on Veld. He couldn't leave him here, it wasn't right. Tseng deserved to hear from his own lips how his mentor had died. It was his bullet that ended Veld's life, and so his duty to see to the body.

/_I am sorry_/ Vincent was startled out of his thoughts by Chaos's mind touch. /_I should have listened to thee. I was arrogant and brushed thy concerns aside. It was wrong of me, I should have trusted thee_/ Chaos's yellow eyes were hidden behind the sweep of dark lashes, his head leaning back against the wall as his rattling lungs struggled for breath.

/_There's nothing to forgive. It was my fault_-/

/_No-/_ Chaos tried to silence him, but Vincent would not be silenced; he had to purge himself of the weight of his own betrayal.

/_Yes_/ he pressed back. /_You don't know what I did, Chaos. When you called me, needing my help, I didn't come. I didn't come. I was in a meeting, and I…Rufus wouldn't let me leave…I could have walked out, should have, but I didn't. I didn't. I let you suffer_/ Vincent forced himself to look upon the demon's face.

Chaos had opened his eyes, and he watched Vincent silently for a long heartbeat of stillness. Then, /_An impossible choice, one thou shouldst never have faced. I placed that burden upon thee, I went looking for trouble –purposely—even after all the times thou warned me to trend carefully and not underestimate Shinra. It was I who acted rashly. I do not blame thee, Vincent. And I will not let thee take the blame upon thyself for my mistake as thou hast done for a hundred other things not thy fault. Thou didst everything within thy power to protect me; more than thou shouldst have needed to. And thou came here, forfeiting thy mission and the peace. Thou tried to persuade me to leave Midgar-/_

/_Not hard enough_/ Vincent sighed. He hadn't _wanted_ Chaos to leave, and he knew Chaos could read the lack of repentance for this sin in his mind.

/_It is not a sin to want something for thyself, Vincent_/ Chaos caressed his mind. /_And I certainly don't regret coming here. Never. Not even were I to spend twenty years paying for it under the knife of a scientist_/

Vincent looked away, jaw clenching. /_You don't know what you're saying_/

_/I do. Thou knowest I do_/ Conviction rang in the words and anger at Vincent's dismissal, and the burning kiss of Chaos's love, surging though Vincent like a storm. /_Don't take me for a naïve child swearing to die for love. I do not speak lightly. I said I would suffer such for thee, and to that I stand_/

/_You'll endure years of torture for a few nights with me?/_ Vincent shook his head, taking a step back. /_You wouldn't be so in love with me by the end of it. You'd curse the lover who cost such a price, and be right to do so_/

/_Then it is well thou art more than lover_/ Chaos answered calmly, and extended a clawed hand to Vincent. /_Come, my friend_/

Vincent closed his eyes, overwhelmed by everything he saw and felt in Chaos's mind, wrapped up in those two words: _my friend_. And he took the offered hand, letting Chaos draw him against the hard warmth of his side. Chaos rested his cheek against the red band covering Vincent's forehead, dove-soft crimson feathers tickling Vincent's face. Vincent hummed his agreement with Chaos's sentiment, and rested in the stillness of the moment. He embraced the measure of peace he found in the confirmation that even if their passion faded, what they shared went deeper and further than any romance.

The sound of light steps running up the stairs pulled the apart. Vincent's hand cradled Cerberus, cocked and ready for the intruder, though he hoped it was Cloud come at last. The footsteps slowed and stopped behind the stairway door, before creaking it cautiously open.

"Cloud?" Vincent called, and a spiky head popped from behind the door, swords drawn, and eyes darting about the dimly lit entrance hall.

"Vincent," Cloud hurried forward, though still wary, his center low and swords in hand as his spotted the three dead Turks. "What's going on?"

"We're leaving Midgar. Now." Vincent beckoned him forward, and settled a hand upon the boy's shoulder when he stood before him. Vincent looked down into the wide, worried eyes, and felt again the weight of this separation. It was like the pain of a broken bone being set. "Veld and Hollander took Chaos." Cloud's eyes darted over to the resting demon. "They took him to the labs."

Cloud licked his lips. His son did not have to suffer the weight of knowing exactly what that meant in the painful clarity of memory, but Cloud had heard often enough what Shinra scientists did, and had been there when a team of rebels unearthed the fully functioning Shinra lab outside Costa Del Sol. The boy understood more than Vincent would have ever wanted.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Cloud demanded, hurt, "I would have come-"

"I did not want you to come." Vincent words were hard, but he did not apologize when Cloud gave him a wounded look. But softer, "I did not want you to see this, or risk…" he trailed off, looking to the spot Jessie had fallen. That could have been Cloud's blood still staining the white tiles.

Cloud nodded, but still had a sullen look about him; at least he made no more protests.

"Now listen, Lieutenant Strife." Vincent tightened his grip on the boy's shoulder, and the boy gave him the attention of a soldier. "You are to help Chaos back to the rooms," he kept talking over Chaos's protest of not needed a babysitter. "Then I want you to go to Sephiroth and tell him of what occurred. Tell him…" He wished they were not taking their leave like thieves in the night.

"I will," Cloud promised, and Vincent knew the boy understood all he wanted to say but couldn't. He did not have a talent with words.

"Good. We will meet back in the rooms and head out of the Tower from there. Understood?"

Cloud nodded, already moving to Chaos's side. The demon was less corporative. "I should be the one carrying thee, child," he gripped as Cloud's small form was nearly lost beneath a wing. "And I do not need _assistance_." He spat the word like a curse with a glare at Vincent, even as he slung one arm over Cloud's shoulders. The demon was proud, but not foolish enough to think he could make it on his own for all his complaints.

Vincent hid a smile as the disproportioned pair shuffled forward. It certainly did look like Chaos was the one doing the carrying, but Cloud's body held the hidden strength of Mako, and other then the size difference, wouldn't have too much trouble getting the demon back to their rooms.

"On to the elevator with you," he advised, before turning to his own burden. Gently he bent and scooped Veld's heavier form into his arms. It was an uncomfortable hold, Veld's shoulders were boarder then his, but he didn't have Vincent's height. With his burden secured, Vincent entered the elevator after the pair, and after some tinkering, undid Jessie's handiwork and got the elevator functioning again to take them to their progressive floors.

….

It was an awkward movement –knocking with one's arms full of the dead—but Vincent managed it. He didn't know if Tseng would still be in his office at this late hour, but had no other suitable place to rest the dead.

Tseng was still there, perhaps waiting for this very thing, or the opposite with Veld bring news of Vincent's successful kill. Tseng's profile was shadowed in the low lighting, only a desk lamp bleeding warm yellow-light into the room. His eyes were pinpoints of darkness, face expressionless as he motioned for Vincent to place the body on a low couch. Vincent did and almost stepped back after relieving his burden, before compulsively arranging Veld's human hand over his heart, the white undershirt crusty with dried, dark blood.

They stood in silence for a moment, Tseng gazing at his dead mentor as Vincent studied the new Turk Director's blank profile. Finally, "It wasn't meant to be like this. The shot…I take such vain pride in my work, but the shot…it was an accident."

"I know." Tseng said, his voice a whisper. "You'll be leaving then?" He didn't turn to look at Vincent.

"Yes. We must."

"Hollander?"

"Dead."

"Perhaps it will not come to war then." Tseng mused.

Vincent frowned, "Would it not be the other way round?"

Tseng finally looked away from Veld, slanting Vincent a glance. "Rufus is young, and for all he likes to deny it, is still easily influenced. Heidegger will demand war, but Rufus has no respect for him. He listened to Veld, and Hollander had his ear at times too, but now the board is swinging to the side of peace. Shinra does not want a war it is not guaranteed of winning."

Vincent hummed.

"But you must go. Rufus would have to seek retaliation for such a blow against Shinra's power. You are CNO, which makes it all the worse, Shinra does not want others meddling in its affairs."

Vincent hesitated then, "I don't know who the new Head of Science will be but…there were some bodies, in the labs…"

Tseng turned to look at him, face a mask. "This is Shinra," was all he said.

The ex-Turk was silent a long moment, contemplating his words. "But it can be a new Shinra now, can't it?"

A small frown of contemplation marred Tseng's brow, then slowly, as if awakening from a long, deep sleep. "Yes, perhaps it could, at least in this."

They looked at each other, both weighing and calculating what a changed Shinra might look like, and yet knowing so many other things would never change. But yes, maybe at least in this it could be.

Finally they turned back to the reason for Vincent's late visit. "Tseng…" he tried, and wished for the second time that night he was more eloquent. It was so different with Chaos, when half the words were not needed for so much was read in the entwining of their minds. "Veld. In the end. He asked for you."

Tseng sniffed. His hands clenching into fists, "Wanted you to tell me I wasn't good enough to be his replacement?" And there was a bitterness in the words Vincent had never before heard from the stoic Turk.

"No. He wanted to say he was sorry." Vincent said quietly, wondering if he even had the right, but he'd promised Veld. Tseng's stiffened body suddenly relaxed, and softened dark-eyes looked back at the still body on the couch, and Vincent knew it was the right thing to say.

Vincent turned, ready to leave Tseng in privacy, when Tseng tilted his head back to him, arresting the movement. "The CNO and Shinra cannot both survive in this world. There may come a time when we might work together one day –as Turks."

"Rufus-"

"Would never turn away such talent, and you know it." Tseng looked back at him, the fall of raven hair swinging into his eyes before elegant fingers tucked it back behind an ear.

Vincent watched him for a moment, thinking. What the Turk said was true, and he'd know it himself for some time. Either the CNO or Shinra would fall, and he didn't think the balance could last much longer before this uneasy peace was severed –if it lasted this night's events, that is. "You know what they say: once a Turk, always a Turk."

"And I've heard: A Turk's only loyalty is too himself." Tseng's voice carried the hint of a smile.

"Well, that does uncomplicated things, though my loyalty extends a bit father then that."

"I know. But as I said, Rufus never turns away talent. And I've never agreed with that saying anyway. It would be a cold life indeed if we Turks were only loyal to our own skins."

Vincent hummed. "Maybe one day then, Tseng."

Tseng turned to him fully, giving him the small bow of the Wutainese, right first pressed over his heart, a friend bidding farewell to friend. "I look forward to it, Vincent Valentine."

Vincent nodded his silent agreement, before turning to cast one last glance over his fallen partner –the first and only one he'd had as a Turk. Veld still had that frozen smile of peace upon his lips. "He looks peaceful." Tseng voiced his thoughts.

"He was." Vincent agreed quietly, before turning and soundlessly walking to the door. As he closed it behind him, he looked back into the dimly-lit room. Tseng had moved to kneel next to Veld. The paleness of his skin a stark contrast against Veld's leathery-tan where Tseng had settled his hand on the dead man's over the beatless heart.


	13. Beloved Betrayer

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 13: Beloved Betrayer

Cloud jog-walked through the corridors, trying to appear casual even as his heart beat a crescendo in his chest and anxiety squeezed the breath from his lungs. His feet itched to run, but he reined the desire in, reminding himself to act natural. Vincent would be back in their rooms with Chaos in only a few minutes, and then they would be able to flee Midgar tonight. The destruction of the Science department and murder of half the staff would warrant retribution. They were only guests; visitors from a country too close to war as it stood. Shinra was weakened and already engaged in a second war with Wutai, their anger would fall short of open war with the CNO, at least for a little longer. Vincent wanted them securely within the CNO's borders as quickly as possible, but he would not leave without giving his son a message, unwilling to let Shinra's lies be the first news to reach Sephiroth's ears of their flight in the night.

Cloud skidded to a halt in front of Sephiroth's door and banged his fist on it, willing Sephiroth to be home. He didn't have time to run around the compound tracking the General down. The door swung open and Sephiroth fixed him with a questioning look. Cloud never came to Sephiroth's apartment without permission; it was an unspoken rule of their…arrangement.

Sephiroth's eyes ran over Cloud's twitchy, nervous state, and wordlessly stepped aside for Cloud to enter. "What's happened?" He demanded as the door sealed shut behind them.

"It's Chaos. He's been," Cloud swallowed, forcing his voice to stop shaking. He had to calm down, they had time for this. "Hollander took him."

Sephiroth's face darkened, "The fool."

"Yeah, well, he's dead now. Vincent and Chaos took out all the scientists they could."

Sephiroth's eyes were sharp as cut diamond. "You have to leave. Now."

"I know, we are, but Vincent wanted, he needed you to hear this from him, and…he didn't have time but…he wanted to say goodbye." Cloud stumbled.

Sephiroth turned away slightly, his face falling into shadow, the only light in the dim room spilled from the side hall leading to Sephiroth's bedroom. How well Cloud knew that room. He longed to curl up in Sephiroth's big bed, listen to his lover's breathing, and pretend this was all a dream. Could it really have only been last night they laughed and made love, never knowing it could be their last time in Gaia knew how long?

Cloud lay on his belly, a lazy smile of post-orgasmic bliss lingering in the creases of his mouth. His arms were tucked under the heavenly soft pillows of Sephiroth's bed; the sheets had been kicked into a tangled mess during their love making. Sephiroth was kissing a trail down the curve of his spine, licking the little dimples at its base, breath tickling the baby-soft hair as the man moved over Cloud's sated body. Sephiroth hummed into muscles' encased in satin flesh, and Cloud let out a little giggle at the sensation before hurriedly clamping a horrified hand over his mouth. Sephiroth paused, silky hair brushing the sensitive back of Cloud's knees as the man's head rose to regard the boy beneath him.

"Did you just _giggle_ Cloud?" The deep voice rumbled, sending vibrations through Cloud were Sephiroth's chest pressed against him.

Cloud refused, absolutely refused, to blush. "No!" He snapped. "I don't giggle."

"It sounds like you do," Sephiroth teased.

Cloud huffed and flipped onto his back, looking up into the dancing green eyes. "I'm not a girl!"

"I am _very_ aware of that." Sephiroth smiled, eyes flickering over Cloud's naked body. "I believe I've heard Zack giggle and he's not a girl either."

"Well that's Zack," and really, nothing more was needed on that point. Zack could get away with anything (even giggling) and no one would ever call him on it; it was just a Zack thing. "So, take it back. I didn't giggle." Cloud protested.

"You defiantly giggled." Sephiroth's lips quirked into a rare smile. Cloud loved these moments with his lover, but he was damned if he was going to let the man get away with calling him a giggler (true or not) every man –or boy—had their pride after all.

Cloud punched Sephiroth in the gut. Sephiroth grunted, falling back from the heft of the blow, but his smile turned into an excited grin as he surveyed Cloud. The boy smirked back, pushing up to his knees and preparing himself for Sephiroth's retaliation. Sometimes one needed to settle these things like men.

Sephiroth pounced, knocking Cloud back into the mattress and grappling for his wrists, but Cloud slipped the hold, wiggling out from under the larger man like an eel. He grabbed a handful of silver hair, yanking the head back and exposing a pale throat. Sephiroth snarled at him, and Cloud's lowered his mouth to graze the smooth jaw with kissing-teeth. Sephiroth's breath hitched, and he tried to snake an arm about Cloud's waist, but the boy danced away, rising to stand unsteadily on the soft bed and trying to use the height advantage to tackle Sephiroth onto his stomach. Sephiroth twisted away like a cat, and swiped wobbly legs out from under Cloud, causing him to fall flat on his ass.

Sephiroth was laughing as he wrestled Cloud into submission, the very obvious sign of his arousal pressing into Cloud's belly. After another moment of fruitless protest, Cloud let Sephiroth roll him onto his stomach, and tucked his knees into his chest to afford better access. He knew how much the man enjoyed these games and never tired of playing them with his lover.

Sephiroth rarely shared his desires or thoughts with anyone, but after a particularly violent coupling early in their relationship he worried he'd seriously hurt Cloud, but Cloud had assured his lover that he'd taken no serious injury. Sephiroth had confided that he'd always wanted an enhanced partner, having to be so very careful with the fragile bodies of the unenhanced, but had never wanted to bed a SOLDIER subordinate. Cloud was more than willing to oblige the man's rougher tastes; his body was able to bear the use as only one infused with Mako could. It brought him gratification knowing he was able to give Sephiroth something the man had never before experienced.

Sephiroth growled as he pushed himself into Cloud's folded body with minimal preparation. Hard hands gripped the bones of Cloud's waist like iron, and humid breath caressed his ear as he let the man take the spoils of victory and pound him into the mattress. Nothing aroused Sephiroth more than their violent play, and the sex afterwards was always pure dominance. Cloud pushed back into the pleasure-pain of his lover's need, crying out as teeth drew prickles of blood on his neck, but he did not protest. He let Sephiroth fuck him hard enough to have broken an unenhanced body, and soaked up the bruising grip and brutal using like rose-kisses, knowing they might as well have been since they were the evidence of Sephiroth's desire. Gentle lovemaking was overrated; he'd learned to crave this raw passion more than any tender kisses.

It seemed so much longer than 24 hours since they lay entwined upon that bed, Sephiroth gently rubbing a potion into Cloud's body where the purple bruises began to bloom on fair skin after their second round of sex. Time was moving too fast. This couldn't really be goodbye.

"I wanted to tell you." Cloud tried to convey the hundred things he needed to say and couldn't. "I thought…maybe…are we….?" He fumbled. This couldn't be it, it couldn't end like this. "Maybe I could stay…?" _With you_.

_Ask me to stay_, he begged silently. He shouldn't, couldn't stay, but couldn't bear to leave either. He'd known, as soon as Vincent asked him to get word to Sephiroth, that he wouldn't leave. He'd told himself the whole way here that leaving was the only sensible thing to do –Gaia only knew what Rufus would do after learning of the mass murder– but he couldn't walk away, not knowing when or if he'd ever see Sephiroth again.

The surprise was clear in Sephiroth's eyes and he opened his mouth to reply, but a shuffling from the hallway drew their attention. A naked man swaggered out of Sephiroth's bedroom, eyes half-lidded. "Ya gonna fuck me or what? I got another client in an hour –oh, sorry honey." The man's eyes trailed over Cloud, "You bringing a third? You didn't pay for a second, but I ain't saying no to _that_." He leered at Cloud, hand moving to fondle his own cock.

"Don't look at him," Sephiroth hissed. "Shut up and get back in the bedroom or your money will be the least of your concerns." The man whitened and scrambled to get the bedroom door shut behind his hasty retreat.

Cloud felt like he'd been punched. He looked up at Sephiroth with bruised eyes. The man,_ his lover_, looked completely unconcerned, even a little bewildered by the betrayal shinning in Cloud's eyes. Cloud's mouth opened, trembling with confusion, hurt, disbelief, but his tongue was dust-dry and wouldn't form the words. Sephiroth stood there, silent and stony as a stature, acting as if this were nothing. No words of apology sprang from those bitter-sweet lips. And maybe Sephiroth had a right to be confused; they'd never said in so many words what they were, but Cloud had assumed…after months of intimacy, after all they'd shared, and now_ this_. The betrayal flayed him like whips, but it was nothing to the sheer un-repentance scrawled across Sephiroth's immovable face.

Cloud took a step back as if to flee the knowledge staring at him in the face: Sephiroth didn't care. And then he stepped forward again, and another step, wanting to pound the pain of his broken trust against Sephiroth's hard, unfeeling heart. "You...I thought...we're…what was that…that…?"

"Whore?" Sephiroth lifted a brow. "Did you think I wasn't sleeping with other people?"

_Yes_, Cloud thought, but couldn't get the word passed frozen lips. _Yes, I thought that, like the naive fool I am._

Sephiroth scoffed, taking Cloud's silence as conformation, a little smile of cool humor upon his lips. "It was just sex, you agreed. What? Did you fall in _love_ with me?" Genuine amusement shown in green eyes, though the word 'love' fell twisted and mocking from his tongue.

Cloud stared at him. It was a joke. A joke. And it cut all the more fiercely because of it. His mouth moved of its own accord, tongue lashing out at the humor Sephiroth found in his agony. "Yes. Yes, I fell in love with you."

Sephiroth stiffened, a brief glimmer of shock passing over his face before an icy wall of indifference rose between them. "There is no such thing as love. You are merely suffering from lust. It will pass in time." His voice was rigid, and the words sounded practiced, as if he'd repeated them to himself too many times.

"Then why does it hurt so much?" Cloud's voice fluttered, faltering like the wings of a bird caught in a sea-gale. He hated himself for the admission, hated Sephiroth for doing this too him. Loved him. Loved him even now, even this betrayal could not erase this love. It was cruel, so cruel.

Sephiroth's cold mask slipped, threatened to crack, but it held and then tightened. Cloud wanted to scream at the emotionless man, pound his fists against the ice-wall, make him hurt. To think, he'd once thought even this coldness beautiful. Now all he felt were the blades of ice piercing his heart.

He loved this, this man, this rock, this statue, he loved him. And he knew Sephiroth did not love him back, had always known, but had fallen anyway. He was as much to blame as Sephiroth. He'd agreed hadn't he? But it wasn't just sex, no matter what Sephiroth claimed, it hadn't been, and Sephiroth knew it. He had to know, had to feel something under all that coldness; he wouldn't be running so far away if he didn't have something to hide from.

"What more do you want from me?" His voice was broken desolation, holding all the ruin of a desert raped by storms.

Had he not been enough then? What hadn't he done? _Tell me, tell what you want of me!_ Had he not pushed down all his fear, given himself body and soul into this man's hands, into his trust? He'd swallowed all his pride and fears and reached out, leaping into this love, giving himself over as fully as he knew how. What more could he give? _Tell me, tell me what I have done wrong?_

But Cloud didn't voice the silent screams, the burning question of _why_ lodged in his throat like a stone. He couldn't do this anymore. It wasn't Sephiroth's fault he'd agreed to something he'd known, even at the time, was impossible. He'd cared far, far too much for this to be just sex, even from the beginning. He didn't know how he'd thought it would end. Had he really believed Sephiroth would fall in love with him? Would at least be faithful to what they had? Such a foolish, child's dream. He couldn't fall back into the dream now; he had to face what this was fully, with the hard light of day cutting out all the pretty, romantic shadows of night. It would never be anything more than sex, a fuck, and Cloud needed more than that. Not love, he could live without love, but he couldn't live with this –the denial of everything but a fuck, a prostitute in the next room– he wanted, deserved, more.

"Goodbye, Sephiroth." He poured all his love out of his eyes, wanting Sephiroth too_ see_, too know the full measure of his heart. Cloud was too weak to stay, too selfish to fight for the one he loved. If he were stronger he wouldn't be walking away, but he couldn't put himself through this anymore. He needed Sephiroth to know he loved him still, unwaveringly, even if the man did not believe in what was right in-front of him, branded into the blue pools of eyes reflecting Cloud's soul.

Cloud finally broke the look, made to turn away, when Sephiroth's voice stopped him. "Cloud-" it sounded lost and harsh, as if torn unwillingly from his throat.

Cloud looked back. Unwillingly: Sephiroth hadn't meant to speak. His face was still blank, green eyes like chipped ice. _Ask me to stay_, Cloud thought one last time, knowing it was futile, that nothing he said or did would break through the wall Sephiroth had enclosed himself within. He should stay and fight, fight for the man he loved, but he did not.

Sephiroth's lips remained sealed like hardened wax, and Cloud's legs carried him to the door as if in a trance. His hand was shaky as it turned the knob, cold sweat from his palm making him clumsy. The door clicked open and he hesitated again, not turned back but waiting, praying, for his lover to call. _Just ask me to stay_, he begged. But Sephiroth did not, there was no rustling of cloth, no creak of the floor, Sephiroth had not moved. He was not coming to bring Cloud back.

"I'll wait. If you ever... I'll wait for you," Cloud breathed, knowing the words would carry to Sephiroth's enhanced ears.

It was all he could offer, the least he could give the man he loved but could not bring himself to stand beside. And he knew the words were true. He might take other lovers, leaves may fall off skeletal trees and spring rains might come five, ten times, but he would never forget Sephiroth, nor find another like him. He may only be sixteen, but he was no child, nor was this the love of a child. Maybe it was at first, but it was far passed that now, too strong even for his own tastes –for he would forget if he could, and wish it was only a dalliance of youth– but it was tattooed upon his skin, into the insides of his bones, and no amount of time would peel it off.

He let the door fall shut behind him, the hollowness of his ears ringing with the absence of Sephiroth's voice. Sephiroth had not called him back.

….

They escaped the Tower without incident, Chaos leaning heavily upon Vincent, and Cloud taking up the rear, laden down with their possessions. None challenged them, even at the midnight hour. The Shinra guards merely shot them inquiring looks, but with no orders passed down to capture them yet, the guards let them through the Tower gates. Vincent took them deep into the slums, using the metropolis's size to their advantage. It only took the work of a phone call for Elena to rendezvous with them, Jessie's dead body strapped to her back. It would have been impossible to cross the Midgar wastes on foot, with Chaos injured and Elena clinging to Jessie's lifeless form like a buoy at sea, not willing to even consider leaving her fallen partner behind.

It took the persuasion of Cerberus pointed at a driver's head, before they were able to hitch a ride out of the city. The truck bed was filled with empty crates and produce that had sat out all day at the market, but they were all able to squeeze on, Vincent taking the cab seat to keep an eye on the driver (the man wasn't overly thrilled with the idea of transporting a dead body to Kalm in the middle of the night).

Cloud couldn't stop himself from gazing back at the city he'd spent nearly half a year in as the truck tires ate up the pavement, taking them further and further away. Sand and the cold night wind whipped through his hair, ass bruising against the uncomfortable metal seat, as the hole-pocked road jolted the vehicle this way and that. The city looked like a huge firefly in the blackness of night, only a pale sliver of struggling moonlight breaking through the pollution. The Shinra Tower rose from its heart, neon lights of the night life peppering the lower regions of Midgar's belly, and the Mako Reactors' hemming it all in with their eerie green glow.

What was he doing? This night seemed so surreal, a dream, a nightmare. Was he making the right choice? He hardly knew his own thoughts let alone what order they should be in. It would have been too dangerous to stay, and without the General's protection who could say what revenge Shinra would have taken against him. But Sephiroth would not have let Rufus harm him; no matter what had happen back in the General's quarters, he would have protected Cloud.

This wasn't how it was meant to be. People fought for the ones they loved, that was how it went in the stories. Once you found the love of your life you weren't supposed to just walk away. But this wasn't a fairytale, and Cloud wasn't the courageous hero running in to save his lover and sweep her/him off their feet with his charms. There wouldn't be a happily-ever-after. This was life, and life was anything but kind.

Ah, Sephiroth, beloved betrayer, beautiful brutality. So this was love; this devious serpent that had infected him with her cruel, cruel poison. Or was it love? You weren't supposed to run away from love, and leave it cold and alone in a room while you turned your back and walked away. But if it wasn't love, it was close enough. Close enough to leave an aching hole in Cloud's chest, and bitter-ash in his mouth. Close enough to burn him within its relentless, pitiless embrace. Close enough to crave over and over again, addicted to its timeless lure, needing the touch of the one he burned for: needing his lover, his betrayer, his rescuer, his Sephiroth.

But Cloud wasn't strong enough to bear its scorch. He didn't want to endure the weathering to get to the diamond within. It hurt. When you placed gold within the fire it was purified, burning away all the iniquities until only beauty remained, but Cloud wasn't anxious to endure his own burnishing. So he'd walked away. If he'd stayed, if he'd endured betrayal after betrayal as he knew he would, if he had lived with every cold shoulder Sephiroth turn on him, every indifferent look, every whore he'd found in their bed, would Sephiroth have loved him in the end? Maybe.

They say you have to fight for love, that it's worth it in the end, but Cloud didn't have the energy to fight. He'd given what he could, and it hadn't been enough. He wasn't a hero of the stories who could endure anything to attain their love. He was just a messed up kid too lost and dried up to bear anymore suffering. He could live without Sephiroth's love. It hurt, yes, so very much, but he would not break. People did not die of love except in the stories, and this was far from a fairytale romance.

Cloud's PHS vibrated in his pocket, drawing him from his thoughts. It was Zack. He stared at the caller ID for a long moment. He'd forgotten about Zack in the rush to get out. He'd told the SOLDIER he'd call later and let him know what was up, before rushing off to the labs.

"The Turks can track us by our phones." Elena broke the silent she'd nursed since loading her partner's body into the truck bed. Elena didn't turn to look at him, keeping her blank gaze straight ahead, never looking down at Jessie's body lying at their feet, stiffening limbs jerking with the truck's sway. The tunneling wind in their ears, and the flash of passing traffic, were their only companions in the wastes.

Chaos was curled in the far corner, wings cradling him, and the sickly rasp of his breathing audible even over the highway's noise. Whatever the demon claimed, he was in more pain then he pretended, but Cloud knew better then to try and offer assistance. The proud creature would never accept it, even if there was something Cloud could do to ease his distress. Chaos's body would heal itself, probably before the sun rose; the Planet's WEAPONs were infused with amazing rejuvenation abilities.

Zack's call went to voice mail, and Cloud still made no move to discontent the devise. It seemed so final, as if he'd be burning the last bridge back to the happiness he'd found in that city of metal. Zack was a true friend and he'd miss him. Cloud just prayed they'd not meet on the battlefield next; he didn't think he could bear to raise his weapon against the SOLDIER. When had things gotten so complicated?

Slowly he turned the PHS over, and worked the back off, before popping the battery. He slid the separated pieces into his pocket and went back to staring at the dwindling light of Midgar, feeling the miles taking him away deep in shadows of his bones.

…

Vincent had the farmer drop them off on Kalm's outskirts, and the man drove away with all the haste of a criminal running from the law. As the taillights of the truck sped away, Vincent crouched down next to Chaos's resting form. The demon's breathing had eased, but his normally slate-gray skin was ash-white from the blood loss. Vincent slipped his fingers beneath the heavy armor, pulling them back damp with blood. He hissed, but Chaos just tugged a wear smile upon his dry lips.

Elena cradled Jessie's body, keeping the frizzy brown hair from soiling in the dirt, as if the dead really cared about their body's state after they abandoned it. Cloud shifted, eyes darting nervously into the cornfields stretching on either side of the empty highway. He'd slung their bags over his shoulders, nestling them between his sword sheaths.

Vincent sighed, "We can catch a ride to Junon in the morning. We should be safe for the night. If Rufus sends out Turks they won't be looking in Kalm." That much was true. Kalm wasn't a direct route to Junon, and with no airbase or sea dock, it made for an out-of-the-way method of reaching the militaristic city of Junon.

Vincent's face was cast in shadow as he turned to look at his fallen Hand, the moonlight crawling over the shape of his mouth, highlighting a pale chin, but the swath of his hair hid the rest in darkness. "We'll bury her tonight." His voice revealed nothing.

Elena's hands convulsed in the fabric of Jessie's shirt, but she said nothing, her lips a tight, white line.

Vincent helped Chaos find his feet before his lover pushed him gently, but firmly, away, determined to walk alone. The gunman held Chaos's eyes for a silent moment, and Cloud wondered if they were speaking mind-to-mind, before Vincent gave in and bent to lift Jessie's body from Elena's arms.

Cloud took the lead, pushing into the rustling corn rows with Elena following. Vincent walked behind Chaos, a grim, silent presence guarding their back. The cornstalks hemmed them in close, and Cloud was sharply reminded of a horror film he'd watched with Zack bringing a slight smile to his lips. You couldn't find a better friend then the SOLDIER First.

They buried Jessie under a poppy tree. It was a shallow grave, dug out with Vincent's gold gauntlet and broken pieces of a cow fence Elena and Cloud picked up. Elena wanted flowers but there were none, only the coarse, wild grasses and weeds. No one cried, they were all too use to death for tears, but Elena wanted to. Cloud could taste her distress in the air, but the Hand's face remained as dry as bedrock. Vincent honored the dead with quiet words blessing her passage. And then it was over, a strange moment of awkward hesitance before they turned away from the grave, gathered their things and moved on.

Graves meant little. Bodies returned to the Lifestream in a matter of weeks, or rather months, this close to the Midgar Reactors. Jessie had now become another face to add to so many others for Cloud; he barely knew the woman. He might remember her on Samhain, but doubted it. Perhaps it was cruel, but he had helped bury so many during the war that this one death meant little. The faces already crowded too thickly and to close. He lit a hundred candles for the dead on All Hallows Eve for comrades whose faces had already passed into hazy memory, and names slipped through the edges of his mind.

They bedded down for the night on a hillock, the gentle yellow-haze of Kalm nestled in the dipping land beneath them. They lay back-to-back to keep the chilly autumn air out. Chaos's wing blanketed Elena and tickled Cloud's arms where his back pressed into Vincent's shoulder. Elena was a welcome warmth against his chest. Her soft body pressed into him, but there was nothing sexual about the closeness, just four comrades bounding together against the elements. Elena cuddled into his side, edging away from the demon on her other side. Chaos had been less then pleased with the arrangement, but Elena was the slightest among them and most likely to be affected by the bitter night air, so he had grudgingly allowed the human girl to share the warmth of his wing, with Vincent hemming in the far side of their huddled bodies.

They lay in silence, the cloud-heavy sky above them, none wishing to speak of the night's events, but then Vincent's low voice breached it: "We'll take ship for Junon, from there it will be a week's sea voyage to Bone Village and we'll cross the border on foot."

"The Turks?" Elena asks.

"It's yet to be seen how Rufus deals with this night's events."

"Tseng will make him see reason," and even after the shock of flight and death Elena's voice still glowed with a confidence she couldn't quite hide in her not-so-secret crush.

Chaos grunted. Cloud couldn't tell if the demon was amused or skeptical; he didn't think anyone but Vincent could really read Chaos.

Elena ignored the sound, "And the President? What will Ryquendë do when she hears, boss?"

"Nothing," Vincent answered. "She'll be pleased, of course, with any destruction of Shinra property and deaths, but that will be the end of it as long as Rufus is willing to let it rest."

"So it's back to Rocket Town and the same old same old?" Elena asked. "Drug busts, border surveillance, rounding up malcontents, the usual, huh?"

"For as long as it lasts," Vincent replied quietly.

Chaos stretched, wing shivering against Cloud's side, and Vincent looked across their knotted bodies at the demon. They shared a long look, no doubt communicating thoughts privately between themselves. Cloud wondered briefly where Chaos would go now; he wasn't a part of the army anymore, and couldn't stomach the witch, but if he came all the way to Midgar for Vincent, Cloud didn't suppose he was going to fly off to the mountains quite yet.

As for himself, there was nothing waiting for him back in Cosmo Canyon, and the nagging thought of Elfé and Shears had been building in his mind all night. War: a comfortable escape, a welcome drug. He wouldn't have to think of what he'd left behind between the bombs and adrenaline and death. It was all darkness. He was mad to willingly return to it, but where his hands should be shaking at the thought, his forehead slick with fear, he felt only relief. He could run far, far away. He couldn't think of anything more appetizing at this moment.

"I'm going to Wutai." The words hung heavy as stones in the silence, and he didn't lift his face from Vincent red-clad shoulder when he felt his father's eyes burn into the back of his head.

Finally, voice an emotionless void, "And when you meet them from across a battlefield?"

Cloud swallowed, foreboding curling at the base of his spine with Vincent's words. "They're still in Midgar," he denied.

"For how much longer?"

"You don't know that." He countered stubbornly.

"I can't force you, Cloud, but I caution you to choose carefully." Vincent pressed.

Cloud sighed, "My place is with Elfe and Shears now."

Vincent said nothing more, letting silence consume them as he slipped his human arm about Cloud and pulled him closer. Cloud fell asleep to the steady beat of his father's heart against his cheek, soaking into his blood and haunting his dreams

….

Tseng watched the SOLDIER Fist Class slip through the massive wooden church doors from where he stood on guard duty. He'd taken over for Cissnei's shift, needing to escape his stifling office for a while. He had what he'd always wanted now with Veld's death not even a week ago –a chance to mold the Turks into his vision; he sat behind Veld's desk as the newly appointed Turk Director. And he'd give it all back for one last chance to say goodbye to the man who'd been more of a father to him then his own had ever been. He didn't blame Valentine. It was not the ex-Turk's choices that brought them to this place, but Veld's. Veld had nurtured his hate until all else had burned away and only the hate remained. It had only been a matter of time before the venom of Veld's guilt came back to infect its source.

Tseng swore the Turks would be different now. He was not prone to regret. The past was in the past, and his eyes were focused on the future. He would turn Veld's death to the Turks' advantage. His mentor held an irreplaceable position in his life, but Tseng was not a love-sick woman but a Turk. Veld was dead. Tseng would act as a Turk and use Veld's death to the benefit of his Turks, as Veld would have advised him to do.

Things would be different now, they already were. Just as he had predicted to Valentine, Rufus had only given a token protest to Hollander and Veld's deaths –more concerned with the immense loss of scientific research that had been destroyed in the science lab's destruction, then the murder of two Department Heads. Rufus was not foolish enough to pursue a war he could not yet win; it was not his way to strike in vengeance. Rufus and Shinra were far from beaten though. Shinra still controlled half the world's land mass and more than half of its population, with more than enough money to rebuild its flagging military.

The Mako Reactors were a double-edged blessing, offering Shinra a seemingly limitless supply of cheap energy which would help it rebuilt its empire in time, but also wrecking havoc on the Land. The Eastern Continent was once the leading producer of wheat, corn, produce, tea, and also the meat farms of beef and chicken. Mako drilling had slowly changed that. The animals started the decline, falling sick with strange new diseases, and then the crops began to fail. Shinra hushed it up as best it could, keeping the damning studies its scientists had conducted secret. All the evidences pointed irrevocably to the Mako Reactors as the source of the decline, but Mako had given Shinra power and made them rich beyond their wildest dreams. To abandon the Reactors would be like cutting their legs out from under them. Mako was Shinra's scepter and crown, the cage with which it had held the world in thrall. Shinra would bring the world down with it before it willingly gave up the power they had become so enamored with.

But the world –or half of it—had wrestled itself from under Shinra's thumb and discovered that they could survive without Mako energy and Shinra's army protecting them from the monsters the Mako Reactors had spawned. The world had changed drastically in the four years since the rebellion had broken out in the Western Continent, but Shinra was not ready to roll over just yet.

Rufus had proven himself to be more than his father's son. The young President was not free of his Company's tainted politics and still fell prey to those who could hold his ear, but he was no-one's fool, and was determined to separate himself from the folly that had led to his father's fall and the weakening of his Company.

Rufus was arrogant, yes, but he was no longer ruled by his arrogance. The boy President had done a measure of growing up in his year of rule. If his father had still sat upon the throne of Shinra, Shinra would have marched to war with the CNO before the week was out, or more accurately, there never would have been a peace to begin with. But Rufus was more cunning then his father, and willing to bow to Change in order to bide his time. But it would not be for forever. There had already been the whisper of 'assassination' as Rufus's plotting blue eyes pierced Tseng's. Tseng knew it would not be long now before Rufus sent his Turks, his deadly right hands, to topple his enemies and bring back the head of his rival. When the order came the Turks would be prepared. They would have to be swift and silent as midnight-snow, but when Shinra was ready, Tseng was confident his Turks could eliminate the keystone standing between Shinra and a world empire –Ryquendë.

It was ironic, really, how despised the Turks were. There had been a time in Tseng's youth, when he'd still been a hot-headed young Turk learning the ropes under Veld, that he'd railed against such injustice. But he knew better now, and learned to accept the animosity heaped upon the Turks from every sector, inside Shinra as well as without. If Rufus had been a king and Shinra his country, the Turks would have been respected, feared, but respected. If this was Wutai, and the Turks were the Black Dragons –the ninjas' who guarded the emperor with their lives and served him to their last breath, undertaking any task asked of them (even assassination) without question—the Turks would have been praised for their loyalty, honor, and courage in the service of The Empire. But this was Shinra, where loyalty such as theirs was taken for granted by the President, and scorned by the populace who called them 'Shinra lab-dogs.' Tseng had long since grown used to the hypocrisy.

He loved his job, and embraced the identity and purpose he'd found within the Turk ranks. It was far from ideal, and some would always see him as Wutainese before comrade; but he had left country and kin behind to take up the mantel of Turk, and while it had not proved all he'd dreamed, it was enough.

He hoped to call Vincent a Turk brother one day, and welcome him back into the fold, though he would never openly acknowledge just how greatly he desired this. Vincent was something _more_. He was Veld as he should have been. He was the ideal of what Tseng aspired to: a Turk with honor if not morality, a Turk with the ability to love and offer comfort as well as kill on demand, a Turk with humanity. Tseng would not have risked his job, life, and the safety of his Turks by entangled them in an alliance with anyone short of Vincent Valentine. Tseng had known a year ago, when Veld had abused his ex-partner and his Second-in-Command alike, that his future lay with the red-eyed gunner. But it wasn't until working with Vincent in Midgar that he realized what it was that drew him to the man. It was the way Vincent looked at Tseng: without derision, without condescension, without that contemptuous curl of his lip for a 'Wut' that so many in Shinra wore. From the very beginning Vincent had looked upon him as an equal, a man worthy of respect, even trust. Not even Reno and Rude had regarded him as such without those inevitable first weeks of Tseng 'proving' himself.

It was both thrilling and terrifying what such acceptance had wrought. Tseng had never felt such value as when he was in Vincent's presence, nor such confidence, and _right _to be there, to speak, to simply exist. It was comparable to amazing sex, so wonderful it brought pain, such relief and freedom that the absence of it was almost crippling. He'd been a man dying of thirst in a barren wasteland he'd fashion from the years and years of abuse, until he'd absorbed it all, and turned it into a self-hate so foul and encompassing that he'd not even been able to look upon his own face in the mirror. And then he'd been offered a sweet smelling drink of water in a desert, and felt what it was to be of worth. Vincent had given him back his pride, and Tseng had no way of repaying such a gift –one the giver was not even aware of bestowing. And now Vincent was gone, leaving only the memory of holy liquid upon Tseng's hungry lips, and there was very little Tseng would not do to taste the wholesome offering again.

Tseng had planted his own seeds and hoped, when the second wave of war fell, the Turks would find their ranks swelled with new Turks (and more covetously, a former one) from a collapsing republic. It was Valentine's loyalty –or lack thereof—that Tseng betted upon. The ex-Turk gave his allegiance to those he called his –his Hands, his family, his friends—but not a false sense of nation, duty, or honor.

Four years ago Valentine never would have considered re-joining the Company that handed him over to a mad scientist like a black sheep for slaughter, but Shinra was not the Shinra of yester year. Rufus was not his father, and the Department that had essentially ruined Valentine's life was in ruins itself, and Tseng was prepared to use ever measure of his influence to ensure the Science Department stayed dead.

Schemes were coming together and the players were on the move again. The sweet lull of peace was nearly at an end, but when war came again the tide would turn in Shinra's favor on this dice roll. Wutai had been foolish enough to break its peace bargain –something they had been lucky to even receive—and would be ruthlessly crushed. Wutai did not have the strength to stand against Shinra, and had let their bruised pride get the better of their judgment yet again. If Wutai had only born foreign rule of its eastern lands a little longer, they might have had the chance to wiggle free of Shinra's heavy hand. But the Wutainese, chaffing under Shinra's control, had moved prematurely, and would now have even their small measure of freedom stripped from them.

Tseng's expensive shoes clicked softly against the street's dirty pavement as he followed Fair into the church. His feet took him unwillingly into the endless lair of Aerith's presence, and he fell prey yet again to her games. Helpless at the sight of her, standing there in her thin pink dress that molded to the gentle curves of her body, a shaft of sunlight haloing her form, making her burn like a sun-cut diamond.

Tseng watched them from the deep shadows of the dingy church as he had done so many times before. He told himself, as he always did, that it all part of the job. This was Fair's first visit since Valentine's flight, and Fair might confide something of his friend Strife's plans to Aerith. Tseng didn't truly care what became of the ex-CNO Lieutenant –the boy was only a player in the game because of his close ties to Sephiroth and Valentine—but Tseng needed a ready excuse for spying on the couple.

Fair was speaking mournfully to the Ancient –yes, keep it formal, detached—Tseng almost snorted at the thought, it was far, far too late for that. Aerith (no, _the_ _Ancient,_) being a sweet little girlfriend, was offering him words of comfort. What did Fair have to complain about? Valentine had probably already gotten Strife safely across the northern border and into the CNO. It wasn't Fair who lost a friend to death that day. Tseng ruthlessly crushed the thought. Veld was dead, that was the end of it; no good could come of dwelling on his onetime mentor. It had been a long, bitter road to Veld's death, and many months since Tseng had been able to look at the man who had stood like a pillar of all he'd ever striven to be, without the wounds Veld had inflicted upon him clouding his eyes. He had trusted Veld, almost as a father the man had been, and Tseng had wanted only to please the demanding Turk Leader since first entering the Turks as a youth of thirteen. But it had taken Veld's death for Tseng to receive that elusive, covetous acceptance, and it proved both hollow and sacred; the empty words of dying man he'd drifted apart from which he clutched like falling stars to his chest, and rubbed their luster into his battered dignity.

Veld was beyond his reach now, and no words of censure or forgiveness would reach him, but that did not give Tseng the right to be jealously watching as Aerith pulled Fair into a hug, her soft body pressing into the SOLDIERs hardened chest.

Tseng wanted to turn away, but couldn't. He'd learned a long time ago that Aerith would never be his, but his mind still taunted him with the unattainable dream. Aerith would never grant him the smile she now bestowed upon Fair; he'd never be anything more than a Turk –a monster looking in. After everything he'd done for her, the risks he'd taken to keep her out of Shinra's hands, jeopardizing his own life to keep her safe, and she still looked at him with loathing. She'd never know what he'd done for her because he would never tell her. But who have loved her more then he? What had Fair sacrificed for the dangerous flower in his arms?

A part of him hated Fair. He wanted to cut off those strong hands that touched her body, and that tongue that made her laugh and lit her eyes with a smile just for the SOLDIER. Tseng wanted to put a bullet into Fair's grinning face, but he knew he'd only regret it if he did. He'd never be able to make Aerith smile like that. Fair was a better man than he, and would give Aerith the life Tseng never could have. But that didn't mean he didn't fantasies about the SOLDIER's death, and taking Aerith into his own arms as she grieved for her dead lover. But Tseng was not fool enough to think Aerith would want him even if Fair were out of the picture. He was nothing to her, less than nothing: a Shinra cockroach.

She pretended when it suited her needs. Oh yes, Aerith played her little games. She'd tease him with what he couldn't have, knowing her power and using it to her advantage: a secret smile, a touch, a kiss. She was not as innocent as she appeared. You didn't grow to womanhood in the slums without learning how to use every advantage you were born with.

Some months ago, before she'd met her new protector Fair, she'd let him kiss her.

He'd been so tired of her games and putting himself at risk for her. He'd come here determined to fulfill his standing orders and take her back to Shinra with him. She'd been desperate, seeing the end game in his cold eyes, and had thrust her slender body into his arms, molding her lips to his. She'd let him drink of the honey of her mouth. Trace the beautiful arch of her back, measure the feathery weight of chestnut curls in his palm as his threaded his fingers through her hair, trembling with want, want, want.

And then she'd pushed him away, smiling oh so innocently up at him, and said she wasn't ready for more. He wasn't deceived; he knew she'd never want more, not from him – a Turk. But she'd won that round (as she always did), laying her trap flawlessly and catching him in the perfection of her smile, the addictive depths in green eyes. He could stare into her eyes for hours trying to name their many hues: like the shifting of sunlight peeking through green leaves. He was helpless before her; his heart trapped within her cruel hands, beating to the rhythm of her skin, her voice, her touch: Aerith, Aerith, Aerith. He couldn't get out, would never be free of her spell, or wash the taste of her tongue out of his mouth.

She reveled in her power over him, a Turk on his knees before her, dancing to her tune. A part of him hated her for his own powerlessness. He wanted to take her for himself, make her beg for him, pant his name like he had worshiped hers. He wanted to hide her away from the world –from Fair—so that her light only touched him, and only he drank of her radiance. He could kill her with his love; devour her with the darkness of its black-fire, all-consuming. He was cold like winter, and she would wither in his hands, a beautiful, frozen flower.

Tseng would never reach out to take. She was not his, and it would destroy him to try and force her to love him back. But he couldn't stop himself from watching her, wanting her.

There she goes, beautiful toxic flower of his torment, kissing Fair, opening the bud her mouth to his tongue just as she had once offered herself to Tseng. She let Fair slide the straps of her dress down perfect, delicate shoulders, catching on the curve of her breasts. His thumbs kneaded the peaks of her nipples, and ran down her flat stomach to cup her ass. She moaned, and wrapped her legs about his waist as he lifted her.

She knows Tseng's watching, she always knows. She looks right at him, pinning the dark shadow of his eyes with her own as she gasps out, "Zack!"

Tseng hates them both, wants to stain the flowers beneath their feet red with blood, but he doesn't turn away. His heart screams at him to leave, but he's caught to deep, sinking into the green of her eyes, the sly tease of her smile as she watches him while her lover lowers her into the flower's embrace, tugging up the hem of her pink dress to reveal the toned curve of her calves and the paleness of her thighs. Tseng plays her game, powerless to free himself from the board of her control, just another chess piece in her set.

She likes to gather powerful men about her, and as much as he hates her for making him one of her pawns, he also admires her. Aerith, descendent of the Ancients, was a queen of game. A survivor. It's what first drew him too her, seeing her desperation to win, the lengths she would go to keep herself out of Shinra's hands. He had felt a kinship with the young teenager struggling to survive in the cruel world under the Plate. Now though, he curses the day he first saw her, and kisses its holy light, treasuring every moment they've spent together over the long years as she grew into the woman she is today. He wishes he could let her go; wishes he could purge the love –once pure—that has twisted into something sinister and destructive, but fears he will never be free of this love's cage.

Fair entered her willing body, drawing a gasp from Aerith. Tseng's groin pulsed, hot and hard; a primal need to push himself into her aching emptiness, fill the bareness of her hole with his seed, and make her lungs pant and her thighs quiver until her heart beats a wild staccato beneath the closeness of her ribs.

Her eyes finally released him from their green enchantment, and turn back to her lover. Tseng's gaze broke away. Bile rose in his throat from the images burned into the insides of his eye lids, and disgust at his own repulsive deed. He left them then, but the echo of Fair's pleasured cries and Aerith's haunting beauty, followed him into the lonely streets.

….

Sephiroth tossed back the drink, the fire of its bite scorching his throat on the way down. Ice cubs clinked in the glass, sliding about as the General cradled the empty crystal in his palm. Cold, jade eyes stared out the floor length window of his office down into the grungy city below. Midgar; he hated it here. He'd forgotten, in those divine weeks with…

The glass shattered on the wall. He clamped down ruthless on the straying thoughts and turned back to his desk. The paperwork stared back at him: empty duty. He opened a desk drawer none too gently and fished out a pack of cigarettes. He'd meant to quite, hadn't wanted one in months, but he'd take what relief he could find right now. He caught a cigarette between his teeth as he struck a match. His nostrils expanded, the smoke caressing the roof of his mouth.

Memories hit him like a fist: inescapable, dogging his thoughts in an endless circle. Gold and sapphire.

But it had just been sex –the best sex of his life—but just sex, so why couldn't he just forget the boy? He saw again the last look in those blue, blue orbs. They shown with something more, more than the acceptance that had first drawn him to those eyes; they spoke of something impossible, and his heart beat like a wild thing in his breast. No. Stop. It was torment. So close, yet so very far away_. _

_I fell in love with you_. And he'd thought, for one heart-stopping moment that the boy had spoken truly. He'd _hoped_. Gaia, save him, but he had _wanted_, ached for it, trembled beneath the shielding coldness of his eyes like a newborn fawn desperate for the life in its mother's milk.

_I fell in love with you_. Then why did you walk away? Why did you leave me? The boy had stirred up this treacherous hope only to crush it in an iron fist. Ah, Cloud, beloved betrayer. You tell me you love me, look at me like that, and then leave me alone, so alone, drowning in the frozen waste of my soul.

Thick, dark lashed sealed out the pain in green eyes. It was a lie, like he'd always know it would be. Just pretty lies upon pretty lips. If there was love, it was not meant for the likes of him.

Sephiroth felt the emptiness of his father's absence, not for the first time in these last weeks. Vincent was a steady, silent presence in his life for so many months that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be deprived of even this. He did not blame Vincent for leaving; they could not have stayed, but that didn't fill the lonely concave in his chest. But it would not be long now and he would be back to what he knew best; to a lover who would never leave him and always had a place upon her breast ready for his silver head, matted with the evidence of their lovemaking: a sinister web of blood and gore. War. She called to him. Blood. He felt the longing like a forgotten drug in his veins. And he dreamt. Dreamt of death in more detail and more passion then he had in a very long time. Wait for me, Wutai, sweet Wutai, I am coming for you.

And there would be forgetfulness there, and simplicity. He could lock up the memories of gold and sapphire, and watching red eyes. There would be no peace, but there could be the numbness of a post-orgasmic kill. It brought the ghost of a smile to his lips.

His fragile calm was broken by his office door being kicked in and Zack Fair, his Second in Command with Angeal off in Wutai, striding in without even a curtsey knock.

"Hey Seph-" the SOLDIER trailed off as Sephiroth pierced him with blade-sharp eyes.

"What do you want, Fair?" He snapped out. He wasn't usually so harsh with the Lieutenant. In fact, he enjoyed the young man's company though he'd never verbally admit such, but now was really not a good time. It hadn't been a good time in six weeks, four days, and change; not since _they_ left.

Zack sighed, a look far too much like pity entering his eyes, which only engaged Sephiroth all the more. "I just heard you're shipping out for Wutai."

Sephiroth grunted, taking another drag on his cigarette. Zack wrinkled his nose, "You know those things will kill ya?"

"Hardly the worst thing that's been put into this body," Sephiroth dismissed.

"Yeah, well, they smell awful too, and rot your teeth! I thought you'd quit man!" Zack protested.

"Leave it, Fair." Sephiroth commanded, yanking out his desk chair and sliding in with the grace of a predator.

Zack sighed, "Fine, Fine." The SOLDIER meandered closer, slouching into one of the padded chairs in front of Sephiroth's massive desk. "Look, I just wanted to see you off." Zack scratched the back of his head, looking a bit lost. "It'll be weird, you and Angeal in Wutai and me, _me_, running things here. Never thought you'd see the day, huh?" Zack tried to joke, but Sephiroth didn't crack a smile. He was ticking down the hours to his departure; he couldn't get out of this city fast enough. "You'll tell Angeal hi from me right? I hope he's not working too hard. The war's not going as smoothly as they thought."

"Hardly surprising with the CNO's ex-General buckling up their ranks." Elfé was a formidable foe, one of the finest sword masters on the Planet, and an experienced leader. It had been an unfortunate turn for Shinra when she's joined ranks with Wutai, but at least she didn't have an army of enhanced soldiers at her back. Intelligence in war was always subjective, but other than the former terrorist and AVALANCHE member Shears, there was no word of other ex-CNO combatants joining the Wutai rebellion.

"Yeah…" Zack jiggled his leg. "You heard anything from Cloud?"

The SOLDIER slanted Sephiroth a look, but the General kept his face blank, calming crushing out his half-smoked cigarette, and lazily flipping through a report. "No."

"Right," Zack sighed, "Me neither. Wonder what the kid's up to."

Sephiroth did not reply, wishing Zack would leave, but unwilling to demand it now that the conversation had turned to a delicate topic, not wanting to add fuel to the fire of Zack's suspicious. No-one knew of his intimacy with Cloud –other than Vincent—but the SOLDIER had to be blind not to notice the sudden souring of Sephiroth's mood after the CNO delegation's hasty departure. Sephiroth blamed the war, boredom, the extra stress the political mess of their leaving wrecked, anything but the truth of it. Zack might suspect there was more to Sephiroth's moodiness, but was not so familiar with his General to press the issue with anything more substantial then sly words and glances.

Zack, seeing he'd wiggle no response out of Sephiroth, turned back to the reason for his unwelcome entrance. "So, back to Wutai. Wish I was going with. I haven't seen Angeal in months, and he never calls, what's up with that?"

"It could have something to do with him being in the middle of a war." Sephiroth answered dryly, though privately thinking there was more to it than that. He too was worried about Angeal. Angeal needed to deal with the looming problem of his degrading health, but as long as he had the war to distract him he would keep putting it off.

Zack didn't look satisfied with this answer, his leg was still bouncing with pent up energy and his teeth gnawed at his lips worriedly. Sephiroth was struck again with how skillfully the SOLDIER had wormed himself into his life as he found himself caving, and comforting the young man. "I'll make him call, if only so you won't phone me every five minutes for updates." He smirked.

The worried expression wiped from Zack's eyes and he perked up, even his spiky hair seemed to stand taller. "I'll hold you to that, Seph." And for once Sephiroth didn't reprimand the SOLDIER for the atrocious mangling of his name.

Zack rose to his feet, stretching, before falling into two quick squats. "This is gonna be crazy, me, head dog and all."

Sephiroth snorted. "Try not to get into too much trouble. I don't want to be called back because you burned down the Tower."

"Nothing to worry about," Zack waved the concerns away, but there was a suspiciously calculating look in those bright blue eyes. "Right. Well. You take care of yourself, ya hear?"

A tiny smile quirked Sephiroth's lips, and he nodded at the serious look leveled at him. There was something so powerfully genuine about the friendship Zack had thrust upon him. He could taste the SOLDIERs sincerity; it was light and fluffy, melting in his mouth like cotton candy.

He was still wary; he'd been burned to often not to hold others at arm's length. Genesis and Angeal's friendship still felt like acid upon his tongue. Even at the height of their friendship there had always been a heaviness to it, the knowledge that the fleeting moments of laughter and companionship would inevitable be broken. Genesis's pride would be ruffled and he'd rise like an affronted peacock, all shivering feathers and screeching indignation. Or Sephiroth would ruin the truce, hiding behind his masks of icy indifference when they came to close, terrified of laying himself naked and vulnerable into the hands of their friendship. But it was different with Zack; he didn't push and push Sephiroth until he cracked and turned on him like a cornered dog. Zack didn't yell and accuse when Sephiroth closed him out, only giving a sad, knowing smile which inevitably drew Sephiroth back again, wanting to wipe the sadness from those blue eyes. Zack wanted something from him just as everyone did, but after months of pondering and analyzing the SOLDIERs motives, turning them inside out and upside down, Sephiroth had concluded that it was nothing more devious then simple friendship, and there was probably nothing he'd needed more in these last few weeks. He would miss Zack, and found himself hoping, against all his other reasons, that the Wutai war did not in fact keep him away too long.

Zack shot him a playful salute and spun on his heel, sauntered out of the office, humming an annoying pop tune as he went.


	14. Sweet, treacherous Wutai

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 14: Sweet, treacherous Wutai

Cloud crouched low as he darted through the thick trees, weaving around the hidden Wutai defenses camouflaged by brush and molded soil. The screeching of a bomb dropped him to the ground, and he pressed his face into the earth's shuddering flanks. The explosion was far south of him, and he let out a breath. There was nothing more terrifying for a foot soldier then missiles; they couldn't fight them, only run and hide. Cloud elbowed himself up, boots squelching as they sunk deep into the mud. The rain never ceased now, ranging from a constant drizzle to the downpours that had soaked them last night and bloated the rivers. He could never get dry; the moisture worked its way under his skin, inching his bones and making them ach for warm socks and a steady campfire.

Cloud reached his destination finally, and slipped next to Shears in the earth-dug bunker. Shears flashed him a tried grin, not even Wutai's rainy season able to beat him down. "Alright there, kid?"

"Yeah," Cloud sighed, handing over the ammunition boxes he'd been sent to retrieve.

Shears's dirty fingers flipped one of the boxes open with a grunted thanks, and dumped the clips into his pack. He popped open the last one, running a critical eye over the long bullets inside, looking for dirt build up. Finding it suitable, he slid the clip into his rife with a satisfied click, and pulled the bolt back to slide a round into the chamber, arming it. "We'll wash those others off after the battle," Shears nodded to the discarded pile of clips that had led to Cloud's errand. The rain had gotten into them, sealing soil between the bullets and making them stick. "Can't waste ammo, but I ain't dealing with sticking bullets during a battle."

Cloud just nodded absently as he pulled out Fusion Sword and clipped the two blades together, fingering his materia slots. He glanced at Mikah, "You need a Fire for the battle?" The Wutai Commander shook his head mutely, jerking his chin at Kwan. Cloud fished his extra Fire from his pocket and tossed it at the boy.

Mikah watched critically as the younger soldier fit the materia into the empty slot on his rifle. Mikah commanded the northern arm of Wutai's Army, and was a seasoned fighter who had attained his rank during the first war with Shinra. His almond shaped eyes were a rare grey, with ink-black bangs falling into them. Even with the ragged scar running from his right eyesocket down to the ear, cutting the lobe clean off –delivered by a Shinra SOLDIER in the first war—he was still a handsome man, though his mouth had a severe cast from too many years of hard living.

Cloud noticed the slight tremble in Kwan's hands as he slotted the materia, but politely pretended he hadn't seen. Kwan couldn't have been much older them himself. This was the boy's first war, and months of stress had taken its toll. The silence of the jungle nights were often broken by screams from soldiers caught in the jaws of nightmares. Cloud wondered what was wrong with him that he did not share in their terror. Had he become so desensitizes that he really craved what others would give their right arms to escape? He sometimes felt that something had gone wrong inside him, a depravity born from the tender years of his first kills. He'd been too young, never knowing a normal life, and now if the simple life was offered to him he'd turn it away, knowing it would never satisfy his hungers.

Kwan's hands clenched into fists at his sides, concealing the evidence of his fear, and dark eyes hid behind the fall of his lids. The boy had caught the camp lice and his head was shaved down to a thin stubble of black hair. The tendons in his neck seemed to jump with every drip of rainwater from the trees' heavy leaves. The jungle rose about them, twisting and arching up to the skies, a tangle of underbrush, vines, and trees spreading their laden leaves up like reaching fingers towards the crying heavens.

Cloud looked away, turning his gaze east to the thinning tree line. Shinra waited there, trapped between the Wutai army and the Yun Hee River at their back. Shinra's floating bridges had been swept away last night by the swollen raging waters, leaving this frontal brigade cut off from the Shinra base on the far side. Their regiment needed to drive these Shinra into the river and reach Elfé's main force just a few clicks to the south.

Cloud slapped a mosquito off his neck and groused about all the mud he was already covered in, you'd think it would mask his scent enough to throw the pesky things off.

Shears laughed, "I thought the same, but no luck. Fucking bugs."

"Better then the flies, right Commander?" Kwan asked in his shy voice.

Mikah grimaced, and explained to the two confused mercenaries, "Some of the soldiers ran into those burrowing flies that grow like maggots in the south. They had the things tunneling into their arms, right under the skin." Cloud's stomach turned at the image. "Couldn't remove them until the medics had a look. If you pop their cocoons the puss can spread into the blood like poison."

"Fuck," Shears said.

"That sounds worse than death by malaria." Cloud shivered.

Kwan shook his bare head, voice thick with his accent, "You ever see malaria death? Poison kill quick, painful, but quick."

Shears cracked a roguish grin, "All this talk of gruesome death is making me fucking hungry." Cloud huffed a laugh and even Mikah wore the shadow of a grin. "You kids got anything?"

Cloud pulled his pack closer, clapping his gloved hands together to shake off the dried mud, before digging into the bag. He snagged a protein bar and tossed it at Shears.

Shears turned it over with a grin, "You serious?" He tapped the CNO logo on the wrapper. "Shit Cloud, they haven't made these things since The War."

Cloud grunted, pulling out one for himself and offering the two Wutainese men one, though they politely refused. "Picked 'em up in Rocket Town. You remember Highwind?"

"The Pilot? Sure. Saved our asses with that beautiful bird of his plenty of times during The War."

"I caught a ride on his airship out of Rocket Town; he was making a drop in the Wutai capital. He freelances now, you know, and Wutai'll pay good money for supplies. Well, he dumped these things with me, cleaning house I guess." He bit into the bar, jaw cracking as he worked his saliva into the stale grains.

Shears laughed, "Probably thought you could use 'em more than him," and took a bite of his own bar. He winced, rubbing his chin, "Think I chipped a tooth."

Cloud rolled his eyes, and shared an exasperated look with Mikah. The Wutai Commander had plenty of experience with Shears's ways after months of fighting side-by-side.

"Could really use some air support about now," Shears continued. "What I wouldn't give to see the belly of an airship flying over this goddamned jungle. Fucking rain."

"The emperor would never allow it," Mikah said.

"No shit. Technology's the devil," Shears snorted, but he flashed a grin at Mikah, knowing the man was a non-traditionalist and would not be offended.

Mikah nodded at the ex-terrorist, and adjusted the katana on his back. All the Wutai officers carried the traditional katana and were trained in the ancient ninja arts, but only those of the Nobel Houses could rise above the rank of Second Lieutenant. Mikah was the third son of an impoverished family with only the Old Blood left to its name. If Wutai had not been locked in war for all of Mikah's adult life he would probably never have learned the ancient arts, and spent his youth apprenticed to a tradesman –even the Old Blood had to eat.

It amazed Cloud at times, how long Wutai had managed to survive with its ridge cast system in place. No-where else on the Planet did the line of one's ancestry determine the boxes you lived your life in like Wutai. There were the Old Blood, the Ancient Houses of nobleman and land owners, and then there was the rest. The common man could never hold a land deed, command an army, or stand before their emperor. A commoner had no voice and no power, and could only live by the standers their 'betters' set for them. But for all this inequality, Cloud did not think the Wutainese people would find freedom under Shinra's rule. Some would migrate to Midgar if Shinra emerged victorious, drifting into the slums, and becoming just another statistic of poverty among thousands of others. But most would stay, living out lives very similar to the one's their parents and their parents before them had. Shinra wasn't interested in bringing 'enlightenment' and 'civilization' to Wutai, only what profits it could glean from the land. And perhaps that was best; the world didn't need any more cultures subjected to the hard line of Shinra assimilation with which they had destroyed so many others. If Wutai's people wished for change, it was best they achieved it alone; they didn't needed the East laying down the rules and judging which parts of their culture were 'barbaric.'

Mikah agreed with Shears's estimation of his countrymen's fear of technology. "The only reason Wutainese soldiers are armed with guns is because so many died during the earliest clashes of the first Shinra war. It was a massacre." His lips were a white line. "The Nobel Houses had to conform or be crushed. Every inch they gave was grudging though, and our army still lacks the heavier guns Shinra uses against us so affectively. An airship will never carry Wutainese troops. The sky is Bahamutt's province as the sea is Leviathan's. The traditionalists would run naked through the capital streets and light themselves aflame in protest of such an 'evil.'"

A rustling in the underbrush snapped their attention back to the gloomy silhouettes hemming them in. They slid as one mind deeper into the bunker. Shears settled the stock of his rifle against his shoulder, eye squinting down the sight, finger hovering on the trigger. Cloud gripped the hilt of Fusion Sword, calves tensed and ready to spring. Something dark and round flew towards them from the green shadows, and Mikah's katana sliced through the hurtling projectile, cleaving it cleanly in half.

Two halves of a coconut fell at their feet, its white milk dripping innocently into the churned mud. The cackling of mischievous monkeys filled the dead silence as the miscreant pranced out of the trees' shade, padding on its hands and feet to stare at them with big, amber eyes.

Cloud expelled a breath, grin twitching at his lips as another ginger-fured monkey joined the first, and then another, all curiously watching the strange invaders of their home.

"Don't let guard down," Kwan warned. "These be bad as the Shinra. You turn back for minute and spend hours finding belongings." The young soldier glared suspiciously at the monkeys. "Remember Dae-Ho, sir?" He asked his Commander. Mikah nodded with a slight smile. "They hung his underpants from a tree," Kwan explained to Cloud and Shears, voice carrying his horror at the monkeys' crime. Cloud imagined it would be a humiliating experience for a boy as shy as Kwan.

Shears started to chuckle, but the sudden warning whistle of an incoming missile sent them all scrambling for cover. The earth exploded, raining down on them in hard clumps as their ears rang with the deafening impact.

"Fuck," Cloud saw Shears's mouth swear, but he couldn't hear the man over his temporary deafness.

Mikah crawled on his belly to the lip of their bunker, already barking out orders to his regiment, face grim, eyes like grey marble. The ease of a moment before had vanished like water vapors on a blistering summer day, leaving only a hardened war leader in its wake. Shears slid on his belly after the Commander. Cloud made to follow, but pulled up short when he spotted Kwan, back slammed against the comfortless soil of their bunker, face pressed into the cold metal of his rifle as he shivered in terror. Cloud slithered closer to the crouching youth, and clasped a fingerless gloved hand to the boy's bent nape.

"Get up!" He shouted over the gunfire and thunderous explosions.

Kwan jerked his head in denial, defeat darkened eyes starting up at Cloud. "I can't. I can't. I can't." The soldier's hands shook uncontrollably about his rifle barrel as he fell back into his native tongue to chant something about death over and over again. Cloud was not fluent in Wutainese, but the meaning was violently clear.

Cloud slapped him. Hard. And the sobbing tirade came to an abrupt halt. "You can and you will. You can do this Kwan, look at me," he caught the fearful eyes again. "They need you."

Kwan looked away, lips trembling. "I don't want to go out there, not again, please."

"I know. But you have to, Kwan." Cloud took a shaking hand and squeezed it, trying to imbed strength in the boy with his touch. He didn't know why he wasn't huddled beside the boy, pissing himself in fear. But that didn't matter now, all that matter was Kwan pulling himself together, and not getting shot as a coward and deserter when he tried to flee the field as Cloud knew he would if left alone.

Finally Kwan gave a hesitant nod, and Cloud tried to offer an encouraging smile. "You can do this. I know you can." He helped Kwan to his feet, and was relieved to see the shaking in the boy's fingers had subsided. It would be the death of him if he couldn't mold them about the rifle's trigger. Kwan's jaw was clenched as if he could hold back the terror if only he kept it trapped, unvoiced, in his throat. They scrambled up the muddy bunker's banks together, and fell in beside the rising Wutainese soldiers like wolves in a pack.

The Wutai army rose like ghosts from their graves, emerging from the defensive bunkers staggered along the tree line. Feet silent as a white tiger during the hunt, ninja soft, they darted through their jungle and fell upon the isolated Shinra soldiers. Wutainese battle screams vibrated through the humid air, chilling it and making Cloud's flesh crawl. The faces of the Shinra bled together before Cloud's greedy blade, hungry for their blood upon its sharp teeth. Thrust, slice, swing, cut, kill. His fingers were slick upon Fusion Sword's leather grip. He couldn't hear; ears flooded with the screams and explosions, nose blistered with the harsh smoke of gun powder. He twirled away from the peppering bullets. A Wutainese soldier fell in front of him and Cloud stumbled. His boots tangled in the entrails of another blank-eyed corpse, slipping in the mud, desperately searching for purpose upon ground as treacherous as wet tiles. His knee hit the ground, hand shooting out to balance his fall, before leaping up again, his hand now running with blood, sticky with mud and leaves and twigs. He wiped it hurriedly upon his gray sweater, already filthy with bone bits and gore knitted into its wool stitches.

The adrenalin exploded along his nerves, firing through his veins and pumping the heady drug straight to his brain, until he felt light-headed and high upon it.

Shears was fighting like a mad thing next to him, rifle bullets plowing through the Shinra soldiers. Cloud hefted his sword again, his fingerless gloves gripping it firmly as he tossed another glance at Shears. Sweat beaded down the flushed face, soaking the bandana holding his hair back, and, as if feeling the momentary scrutiny, he cast a look back at Cloud. Their eyes smashed, meeting like battling rams, and they grinned. Shears's teeth were stained with blood, making the expression savage upon his lips.

War was a god and they knelt before her. War was a drug and they drank at her bloody spring, wishing to banish the metallic taste upon their tongues even as they craved the dangerous darkness of her banks.

Cloud didn't want the antidote, because he was drowning in this nightmare. And the nightmare was himself; his own darkness. He couldn't get out. He didn't want to get out. Just wanted the tidal wave of this drug to pull him down, down, down, caging him beneath its under tow until only the cold, roaring darkness remained. Make them stop: the memories. Clawing at his eyesockets until they bled. Drown them, squeeze them, suffocate them… Silver and emerald. Dove-grey eyes, a woman's coy smile, words for love, words for slave. Yellow curls, a hick town's lilting accent: You ani't nothin' special kid. If I wasn't a civ'lized woman…. A lonely apartment waiting for him in Cosmo Canyon. Blood-red eyes, a husky voice calling him son; where are you now, papa? Complication upon complication, who was the enemy, what was he fighting for? So alone. So much pain. _There's no such thing as love. Then why does it hurt so much?_ Silver and emerald, gold and sapphire entangled upon a bed. You cannot die of love. Block it out, swallow them down, all the memories and useless dreams, and fall….drop like a stone into the back pool of this addiction. Take a hit of forgetfulness, kid. Its pumping through your veins now, so good, fuck, don't think, nothing but the _now_. He didn't want the antidote; he was flying so high, yeah, so high he could touch the sky, and all his troubles were sinking away as his seized the crying skies and kissed a bleeding sun.

….

He traced Angeal's profile for the thousandth time since arriving at the front two nights ago. White hairs framed a face aged twenty years in a matter of months. Deep lines etched themselves along a mouth, the crinkled edges of eyes, and the worried furrows in a brow. Eyes that had once glowed with a righteous passion, had once been blue sparks when the words 'honor' and 'pride' passed the now cracked lips, were dull and void now.

Sephiroth had been shocked at the advancement of the disease, and confronted Angeal as soon as he caught him alone. Short of a direct order though, the First had stubbornly refused to return to Midgar, which was something Sephiroth was hesitant to give. Midgar could not help Angeal, the only salvation lay in the witch and he could not force Angeal to seek her aid. They had argued, as they always seemed to do now, but Sephiroth had been the one to back down in the end. There was something too much like defeat in Angeal's eyes. Angeal was giving up. Something more important than life had been stripped from the SOLDIER when a white wing had sprouted from his back only weeks ago: his pride, his honor, his dreams. At least that was Angeal's belief. Had Sephiroth been Genesis he would have known what to say to snap the First out of his morbid thoughts, but he wasn't, and everything he'd tried had failed. Not even the grief Angeal's death would surly cause Zack had moved the man. Sephiroth feared Angeal stayed at the frontlines not only to hide from the look in Zack's eyes, but because he was seeking an honorable death in battle.

Honor. Fuck honor. They made their own honor, and even mutated SOLDIERs with wings could live with honor, but Angeal could not see that. He was fixated on the idea that he was a monster, and when Sephiroth had asked if Genesis was a monster too, Angeal had said _yes_. Sephiroth could not understand this turn of events. When Angeal had last been in Midgar it had seemed like the SOLDIER planned to accept treatment for the disease. Something had happened, but Angeal wouldn't confide in him.

Sephiroth followed the line of Angeal's staring eyes, trying to determine what had so enthralled him, but he could see nothing but the hazy drizzle of rain, and the rows of camp tents.

He sighed, eyes falling to the abandoned maps spread out on the table before them. They had to prepare for Wutai's eminent attack. Their forward thrust had been stalled when the rains washed out the bridges, and lead to the slaughter of the 35th Company which had been cut off on the river's opposite bank. That was a few days before Sephiroth's arrival, and the Wutainese troops were united under General Elfé's banner now. It was only a matter of time before they crossed the raging Yun Hee River and brought the war to Shinra's doorstep. Shinra needed to strike hard and fast to rein this war back in. They would attack the Wutainese base at dawn tomorrow and take back the offensive.

Sephiroth spread a long-fingered hand over the maps, examining troop placements; he had ceased needed their reference for terrain years ago. He'd crossed and re-crossed the Yun Hee River, countless times during the previous war as Shinra played a tug-of-war with Wutai. Frankly, he had been surprised the Wutainese had regained so much ground, but any surprise had vanished when he'd seen Angeal's condition. It was more than the signs of age –though the SOLDIERs body weakened quicker and lacked the strength he'd once been known for—Sephiroth had caught Angeal's mind drifting as it was doing now, more than once in the short time since his arrival, and it worried him. A listless mind was as dangerous as a frail body in battle, if not more so.

He wished their relationship had not degraded to its current state, wished he had Genesis's way with words. He felt the distance between them more keenly than ever, and knew the fault lay as much at his own feet as Angeal's. It just hadn't seemed permanent –this sundering—he'd known their relationship was broken, but thought they would fix it with time. Now, he wasn't so sure it could be fixed. And if Angeal was not dying, he didn't think he would have even tried. It was a chilling thought. He didn't want to lose Angeal like this: a shattered friendship like a millstone about their necks, and a desolate expression in blue-gray eyes.

"Angeal," Sephiroth's voice was softer than usual, driven by the growing revelation of his failure.

Angeal didn't appear to hear him, eyes still starring dimly out the drawn tent flap at the endless sheets of rain. Sephiroth hesitantly reached across the gulf and brushed the other's shoulder. Angeal jerked as if waking form a doze, and glanced down at Sephiroth's hand upon his arm as if he couldn't quite understand what it was doing there.

Sephiroth withdrew, sinking back into his seat. "Angeal," he tried again, and then floundered for a suitable topic that would not upset the First, but finding none.

He sighed, looking down and said what he needed to instead. "I thought you might like to visit Genesis." He slanted a glance at Angeal, and saw him stiffen, no doubt anticipating another row. "You haven't spoken in months. It might be a nice break. I'm sure he'll be pleased to have you, and anxious to show off his sons. I'm astonished he didn't barge down your door the moment they were born." He tired to joke, but it fell flat.

"I've told you before; I'm not interested in their President's cure."

"Then don't ask her for one. I was only suggesting you see a friend-"

"No. Don't play games with me, Sephiroth. You know very well what would occur should I follow your advice." Sephiroth looked away. Yes, he knew. Genesis would demand Angeal see reason, and if anyone could get through Angeal's thick skull, Genesis could. "And don't try and convince me to leave my men on a battlefield again."

Sephiroth pursed his lips. "I don't understand what's changed, Angeal. You promised you'd seek treatment, and you've never been one to break your word before."

Angeal's fist slammed down on the table and its legs buckled under the weight of the SOLDIERs frustration, spilling the maps and plans into a chaotic mess upon the tent floor. "Don't speak to me of honor! How many times do I have to tell you, Sephiroth? I have none. I am a monster, an abomination, spawned of twisted science experiments. My mother-" he cut himself off, but Sephiroth had already heard and was not going to let it rest.

"Who told you this? Angeal," he pushed himself up, not afraid of stepping into the other SOLDIERs space. "What is this about your mother?"

"Leave it; it no longer matters." Angeal sighed.

"Tell me." Sephiroth demanded with all the arrogance of a superior before his inferior. He lent forward, trapping Angeal's broader shoulders between the cage of his arms as he rested his palms again the arms of the chair.

"Why should I?" Angeal snarled angrily, shoving Sephiroth in the chest and rising to meet the challenge as Sephiroth had hoped he might. Sephiroth had goaded him purposely, trying to provoke Angeal into letting something slip since the man obviously wouldn't say anything willingly. "It is my burden to bear, not even Genesis's knows, and I won't tell him how we were infected even before our births, hand-picked to be monsters."

Sephiroth's sharp mind ran over every possibility, and finally concluded, "Hollander told you this?" Angeal flinched away from the name, which was as good as a verbal confirmation. "And you believed him?"

Angeal let lose a brittle laugh. "And why shouldn't I believe the man who did this to me? Surely he would know best."

"And should I believe every lie Hojo whispered in my ears, hum? Do you really think you were the only child Shinra experimented upon?"

A myriad of emotions flickered over Angeal's face, "I never thought…" but then his shoulders slumped, "What does it matter? It doesn't change what I am: a monster."

Sephiroth let out a frustrated puff of breath. "You are what you chose to be."

Angeal mutely shook his head as if dislodging a pesky fly. "No. No. A monster cannot choose to be human, no matter how hard it tries."

Sephiroth was getting a headache. Angeal's blindness had reached new epic proportions, and he couldn't deal with it anymore. "We'll talk about this latter, Angeal." He bent and gathered up the crumpled maps. "We have a battle to plan."

Angeal turned away. "I need some time alone. You're more then capable of planning a battle, General." Sephiroth's opened his mouth to protest, but Angeal was already slipping out into the rain.

He sighed, seating himself heavily in the chair again. Angeal really had no concept of what a monster in human form was if he thought to compare himself to one. Sephiroth was intimately familiar with them; he'd been raised by one, and looked at another in the mirror every day. Noble, honorable Angeal, stuck forever in his confided box of principles and do's and don'ts, was no monster. He could be cowardly and narrow-minded, but he clung to his morals far too tightly to ever be anything but a good man. A good man who was stubbornly determined to let himself rot away rather than seek a cure he did not think he deserved. And Sephiroth was at a loss for how to help his friend (if they could even be called such now).

….

Masamune mowed through the bodies like a tsunami through thatch huts. Beautiful. The precise weight of his blade in his palm, its song as it cut through the air, the smell of death in his nose, on his skin. And Angeal thought himself a monster, he could laugh at the man's naivety, and did. A chilling sound that struck fear in the bones of his enemies. Yes, he's come, the Demon.

Demon they had named him, and he'd shied from it, cowing in the corner of his tent all alone in the dark. Fourteen, thrown upon a field of war for the first time in his life, and more innocent then any child that age had a right to be. He'd seen the looks and whispers, and recognizing them as the same ones the scientists used to give him. Something was different about him. Always different. Side glances from people in white coats that quickly darted away from his unnatural eyes, the mirror of the looks the soldiers now gave him. Demon, they whispered as he passed. But he hadn't understood what was wrong with him. He'd watched the soldiers laughing and talking at the campfires, and a deep longing had filled him to join them, to be smiled at, slapped on the back, and looked at like something normal. But he could still taste the oily slide of their words in his mouth: freak, test-tube queer, show-off, scientists' little bitch. The wall of their rejection shut him out, the pain of their words his only companion in the darkness. He had cried, huddled alone in his tent as if it could shield him from the memory of their words like armor against bullets. He'd thought he had no more tears left to shed after the long years of pain. But this was a new pain, a hole in his chest that ached in a way cutting scalpels and Mako showers never could, and he didn't know how to fill it.

That was many years ago though, and he wasn't a childlike fourteen-year-old any longer. Some of that hole's space had been stuffed with Angeal and Genesis's friendship, but he realized now that it had never been enough. He'd been so lonely even as they joked together and shared those special smiles among friends. Always there had been a line between them. Genesis and Angeal were friends first, always, and he was the third. He was left feeling pathetically grateful for what they shared with him, but not so gratefully that he didn't sense the barrier, and created his own as counter balance.

Don't let them too close; people end up hurting you in the end. They always do.

And then he met his father and Cloud, and they slipped through the fences of his heart somehow. He hadn't meant to let them so close, but he'd woken up one day and realized he trusted them more then he'd ever trusted Angeal or Genesis. But not enough to let them know how far they'd come, how much he needed them; no, never that. He missed them. He missed waking up next to Cloud's body, the scent of his hair upon their pillows, hazy blue eyes blinking up at him with a lazy smile. He missed his father's silence, his watching eyes, and knowing that in his own strange way his father was telling him he was not alone.

But he was now, alone.

He dug his blade into a Wutainese soldier's gut, the man's scream rang in his ears, reminding him what he was made for. He was a killer; and if demons had holes in their hearts no-one was ever going to fill them. There's no such thing as love, he'd told Cloud and believed it once. But he'd caught a glimpse of that phantom love, like sunlight breaking through the thick boughs of trees and warming a forest floor. But it was not for the likes of him. He was the rock of the deep earth where the water dripped stale and icy in echoing black pools, and minerals laced like vines. Nothing so beautiful as sunlight would ever touch his cold face or crawl into the hollowness of his chest. Love was the poetry of meadow fields, where daisies reached for the sky and cotton-candy clouds swam through crystal sunrays.

A shell split the pocketed ground only yards before him, rocking his feet, and his powerful thighs launched him through the raining earth, flipping in the air like a cat. He tossed silver bangs out of his eyes and gritted his teeth. Fuck. Who was manning the artillery? That blast had taken out as many Shinra troops as Wutainese.

He ran towards a group of Shinra solders huddling in one of the many fresh tears in the ground, cutting down any Wutainese stupid enough to get in his way, and dodging the bullets crisscrossing the air.

"Captain," he snarled, seeing the soldier's rank upon his shoulder. The man's grimy face whipped around, hands fumbling on the rifle he'd been leveling at the approaching enemy.

"General, sir!" The man shouted over the screaming bombs and wounded men.

"Do you have a radio?" Sephiroth crouched down, gaze flicking over the wide-eyed men sharing the captain's defensive position. Good, they were using what cover they could.

That was the problem with offensive assaults; the enemy had the advantage of a fortified position, leaving the attackers to take heavy fire as they crossed the no-man's lands between them. Shinra may have taken an aggressive stance with this attack, but it was hardly a surprise one. They'd had to cross the Yun Hee River first, giving the Wutainese plenty of time to prepare for them. But Shinra had the advantage of greater numbers, and, as always, were better armed. If Wutai had the kind of artillery Shinra possessed Sephiroth never would have attempted the river crossing so close to Wutainese forces. But the Wutai Army was not outfitted with tube artillery, they had no mobile field guns, instead relaying on their short-range mortars and light, shoulder armed missile launchers, which left their Army subject to crushing counter-battery fire from Shinra's heavy guns, and attack fighters who'd flown inland from the carrier's idling in the Wutai Sea, to rain steel and death upon the Wutainese defenses.

Shinra had only a modest Air Force, mostly consisting of bulky transport carriers, but the Shinra Navy did boast the most impressive, lightest, and swiftest fighter planes on the Planet, even if the number was small. The lack of reliable air support had been a problem during the Rebel War; the CNO had a strong collection of airships and a talented crew commanded by the ex-Shinra employee Cid Highwind. Their planes had been able to cover greater distances and haul a larger load of bombs to devastate the Shinra ground forces with, but the former Shinra President wasn't interested in building a costly Air Force. His only interest had been stuffing up a meaty land-locked Army. Rufus might change this policy with time, but airships took a hefty toll on the budget, and this second Wutai War did not warrant the cost. Still, Sephiroth was confident Shinra would take the field this day as they had so many times during the First Wutai War.

"No, sir, sorry sir," the captain apologized.

Sephiroth gave him a curt nod and spared a few words of encouragement before moving on. Damn it. Another shell tore up the earth, killing more of _his men_. He was going to kill whoever was responsible for this fuck up. His gloved fingers wrestled with the leather of his coat a moment, before seizing his PHS. There was little hope a call would go through with all the interference from the battle, but at least he could try. As he brought the device to his ear he grunted, twisting Masamune at an awkward angle to take off a charging enemy's head. No signal. He flipped the PHS closed again. He needed a radio. Fucking incompetent gunners.

A woman's anguished scream caused his head to whip about. The higher pitch carried over a battlefield drowning in male voices like a horn through fog. The jungle was thinned out here at the steps of the Wutainese's fortress, the trees logged for firewood and used to build the temporary stockade the Wutainese were using skillfully in their defense. The surviving brush and trees were going up like dry pine needles as the Wutai Army used blow torches to push the Shinra back with scorching flames and blinding smoke.

Sephiroth had a clear view of the woman –it could only have been Elfé—as she charged Angeal. Her face was twisted in hate, her eyes promising death. Angeal's huge Buster Sword met the woman's attack and parried with his own. Sephiroth's feet were already eating up the ground between them, a fear like he'd never know in his breast. Angeal was too sick, too slow; he wouldn't be able to hold…

Elfé's arms were carried on the wings of vengeance, giving her a grace and strength beyond even her normal inhuman abilities, and Sephiroth could only watch –running—as her katana sliced through the delicate flesh of Angeal's neck, nearly severing his head in a killing blow.

"Angeal!" Sephiroth cried. No. No. No.

Angeal's body fell like a stone, Buster Sword slipping from limp hands, blue-grey eyes blank as the life fled his body. The sound of the body hitting the earth was one that would haunt Sephiroth. Too late he reached Angeal's side. Too late he knelt; close enough to touch to aged face. Too late he stepped between his friend and his murderer.

Elfé's cheeks were stained with tears, her eyes wild as they stared at each other down the blades of their katanas, but Sephiroth did not care. He noted these signs with detachment, his brain filing them away and coldly concluding that the woman's emotional state would make her an easy kill.

She proved to be a difficult opponent even with her distress, but Sephiroth was going to kill her. Angeal's face was crystallized in his mind's eye, and nothing else mattered but to kill the one who had taken Angeal from him, from _Zack_. He'd never felt such blind rage towards a human being before –but for Hojo.

Masamune pierced her stomach, bringing her to her knees, sword dropping from her hands as she clutched the spurting wound. Sephiroth pulled Masamune ruthlessly from her body, letting her crumble without the weight of its steel to hold her up.

Vengeance.

She looked up at him then, eyes filled with a pain that transcended the physical, and his breath caught. He felt like a film was ripped from his eyes. Her fingers crawled upon the earth, reaching, reaching, for another body lying just beyond her grasp.

"Shears!" She choked, blood pooling in the corners of her lips. "Shears…" The man's eyes were dark and empty like polished glass. A deep gorge that could only have come from Buster Sword cut through his chest. "Please. Please. Oh god, oh god, Shears!"

"Elfé!" He knew that voice, though he'd never heard it tear from the throat he'd kissed as they'd made love, with such pain before.

Cloud. Cloud. What was he doing here? He wasn't supposed to be in Wutai.

Cloud hit the ground beside Elfé with a cry ripped from the fabric of his soul. And Sephiroth looked down at the scene as if it were a strange movie being played out before him. It didn't feel real. He felt dethatched. How could…he didn't understand…how could this happen? It was all so wrong, so horribly wrong. Cloud clutched the dying woman in his arms, breathing in her continuing cries for Shears as if they could save him, save her, from the death swiftly approaching. And Angeal….he lay sightless, dead. Dead. Never. Again. Oh, Zack.

Melodic words were spilling from Cloud's tongue. Sephiroth tasted ginger root and the bitter sting of willow bark, and realized the boy was using the witch's magic to heal the woman. The bleeding was easing, miraculously, not even a Cure could have stanched such a wound. But it would not be enough; there was too much blood already soaking the jungle floor.

Sephiroth fumbled for a potion on his belt, and caught Cloud's shoulder, trying to offer the aid. And a Cure too, it might help, if the woman could even be saved. He yanked his glove off, reaching out to apply pressure to the wound, when Cloud knocked him away. "Haven't you done enough?" The boy's face twisted in grief and was that hate?

"I…" but he had no words, and was mute as Cloud hunched over the woman as if Sephiroth might cause her further damage just by looked at her.

Cloud uncorked the offered potion though, and tipped it into lips growing blue with blood loss. He massaged her throat until she swallowed. The woman's pleas for the dead man beside her had grown fainter, her eyes unfocusing, but the potion drug her back up to consciousness again and she cried out when a renewed assault of pain hit her.

"Shh, Elfé," Cloud combed the sweaty stands of choppy bangs out of her face. "I am going to save you." His voice was fervent and feverish like a fanatic before his messiah.

Elfé whimpered, and then her hands flew desperately to her stomach, "The baby!"

"Wha-?"

She tangled a hand in Cloud's sweater, fingernails dragging him closer, her eyes like two burning stars. "Cloud, you have to save it! Oh, gods, the baby! Shears!" Tears spilled afresh from her eyes as she reached for the dead man again.

"Oh, sweet Gaia…" Cloud's fingers fluttered like broken wings over the gaping wound in Elfé's stomach.

"You have to…" the woman's frantic pleads began to trail off again as her body shut down, "Shears…"

"Stay with me, Elfé! I don't know what to do-" Cloud choked off, the back of his hand pressing into the wound of his mouth.

She'd killed Angeal. Killed him, and yet Sephiroth found himself wanting, _needing_ her to live. Cloud was hurting, and he couldn't bear to see it. He hadn't meant to hurt Cloud, no, never. He hadn't thought…why hadn't he thought? He knew the woman was close to Cloud, but in that moment of (hate, rend, kill) it hadn't mattered at all.

He'd wounded Cloud before. He'd known –even as he pretended ignorance—he'd known he'd hurt the boy deeply. This was a whole different kind of pain to the one he'd inflicted in Midgar, but he'd been unable to spot himself both times. Greif had wielded his blade this day, and cut down one Cloud loved, but his own insecurities and inability to trust had been the spear that pieced like betrayal and torn his lover away that first time. He knew, even while he'd taken others into his bed, that it would hurt Cloud if the boy ever learned of it. But he'd fucked and fucked and fucked, as if to prove to himself, to Cloud, to the world, that he didn't need _anyone_.

Don't lay claim to me. I'll have no leash, be it love or the bounds of honor or the steel restrains lashing me to a lab table. You can't control me. You can't own me.

Don't let them in; don't let them get too close.

He'd started fucking whores when he'd not been able to get Cloud out of his mind, the smell of him off his skin, as if a meaningless fuck would be able to uproot the boy who had planted himself upon his heart. He'd pushed Cloud away, terrified of the feelings the boy was stirring in him: the helplessness, the pure _need_. And then he'd pushed too far, and Cloud had left, leaving the taste of impossible words upon his tongue, and a hole in his chest that ached, ached, ached.

Maybe some part of him wanted Cloud to find him with another, not to hurt the boy, but maybe to test him, to see what he would do. To reach the boundary of the boy's acceptance and push into the void of the unforgivable before he'd become too depended upon the other's place in his life. But it had already been too late, and Cloud had already dug too deeply. Sephiroth didn't know what he'd wanted, only that what he'd received was not it. He didn't want Cloud to tell him he loved him and make him feel, make him hurt, make him yearn like this. But those torn words of love haunted him, and he _needed_ to hear them again. Please, don't let it be too late….

"Cloud, I'm sorry." He sounded so pathetically lost; but what could he really say? If he was apologizing for his thoughtless use of the boy in Migdar, then he was weeks too late, and if it was for the bleeding woman in Cloud's arms, then the words were both too little and not altogether sincere.

"Leave me alone!" Cloud snarled, arms clutching the unconscious women –not dead, not yet. But if she didn't get medical aid soon she would be.

Too late. He'd ruined everything; smashed this one last dream in hands too soiled and callused to cradle the delicate glass of his hope without shattering it in a monster's maw. Or maybe there had been nothing to begin with, and it had all been a fantasy he'd spun in his own mind from beautiful words that had only been lies_. I fell in love with you._ But you don't love me now, do you?

Something scabbed over inside Sephiroth at the harsh dismissal. You see? They always hurt you in the end.

He rose, tall and imposing, stiff backed, bloody sword clutched in his hand, and turned his back. The battle raged on and Sephiroth felt like they stood in the eye of a storm, calm, cut off, surreal, as the world was laid waste about them. He bent and closed his friend's –was he even that in the end?—eyes. Oh, Angeal. This would kill Zack.

"Strife!" Sephiroth's grip on his sword retightened as the numbing calm was interrupted by a Wutainese soldier running toward them. A gleaming katana was draw in his hand, cold, grey eyes hitting Sephiroth's own like a blow, punching with all the hate of a man who'd seen Shinra tear his country apart with Sephiroth at its head. Sephiroth was used to such looks, and the inevitable 'heroic' deaths they usually let too. But the man surprised him when he did not throw himself at the General with a deranged cry of justice, but instead took up a wary stance next to Cloud, as if he could somehow protect the boy from the Demon's wrath. Sephiroth would have snorted at the ridiculousness of such a thought, but there was no humor left in him. He felt dry and whipped like an empty husk.

The Wutainese soldier's eyes flickered over the two downed bodies and the crouching Cloud, easily cataloging the man as dead and perhaps the woman too. "The General Elfé?" He asked, voice emotionless.

Cloud choked, "She's still alive, I don't…we need to get her to the base camp, Mikah, or…I don't think they will be able to help her, and Shears…" blue eyes like dead stars stared at the body laying next to the one clutched in his arms.

The man, Mikah, eyed Sephiroth's silent, watching form again, but Cloud cut off the thoughts, "He's not going to attack me, Mikah."

Sephiroth's jaw jumped, feeling strangely gorged at the dismissive words, as if he was no more than a wild animal they had to assess the danger of. No whisper of what lay between them entered Cloud's tone. Sephiroth could well have been a stranger.

Mikah looked less then convinced, but knelt next to the still body of Shears and carefully closed the dark eyes, his own never leaving Sephiroth and pouring a fountain of accusation into the Shinra General, as if all the world's pain could be laid at his feet. "We have no helicopters. I'll have to call a stretcher, but…" grey eyes ran over Elfé's serious condition. "It's unlikely she'll make to back to base camp, less the truck ride between the lines and proper medical facilities."

Sephiroth didn't know why he opened his mouth then –no he knew, he just didn't want to acknowledge how much he needed Cloud to forgive him; no not forgive, he'd done nothing wrong, had he? Was he wrong to avenge Angeal's death? He didn't know, but something had been broken, and he needed to fix it. "I'll call for a Shinra helicopter. Reno's still at our base, and can be in Rocket Town in a few hours without the rough transport of land travel."

Cloud's head whipped about, eyes wide, but a frown still pulling the delicate brows down. He looked ready to refuse the offer, when the Wutainese soldier, of all people, stepped in. "You trust the Shinra General?"

Cloud's mouth floundered, seemingly torn between his anger at Sephiroth, and the months of history they shared. Finally, a sighed, "Yes. With my life."

"Then your path is clear. General Elfé will be dead within hours if you do not take Shinra's assistance."

Cloud gave a tight nod, half at the Wutainese man and half at Sephiroth in acceptance of the offer. Sephiroth grunted, a petty part of him wanting to retract the offered assistance, but he was not so heartless, whatever Cloud seemed to think now. "Pull back your men. I'm not bringing a helicopter into this mess."

Mikah's chin jutted out. "And yield the field to Shinra?"

"You think you can hold us off without Elfé?" Sephiroth shot back, before sighing. He didn't want to get into this now. He just wanted to retreat to the privacy of his tent and mourn the loss of a onetime friend and something terribly precious he felt had snapped between himself and Cloud, beyond mend. Now was not the time to grieve, so he held himself together as he always did. But it was there –the grief—crawling underneath his skin, waiting to pounce when the tent flap finally fell closed behind him, and he was alone. Alone again, as he always had been. A silver-haired youth cowering in a tent corner, crying, crying, the echo of 'Demon' still ringing in his ears. It hurt. A hand pressed to his chest –exploring—as if to discover a physical wound to explain this pain, but finding none.

Carefully, as if Angeal might be offended, he turned the Shinra Commander onto his side, his fingers searching out the radio clipped to the man's belt buckle. Angeal, always so practical….swallow the thoughts down. Not here.

It was but a moments work to relay the orders for Shinra's retreat, and as he turned the little knob to 'off' again, he raised challenging brows back at the Wutainese soldier. His move. A nod, and the man mirrored his lead, revealing himself to be a General in his own right. Sephiroth should have recognized the name –Mikah, Commander of Wutai's northern forces—immediately, but he'd been distracted, not that that was any excuse. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Not here, not in battle. Remember where that landed him last time, he chidden himself. Silver hair, split pupils, and chains about his wrists.

The cries of 'retreat' bounced down the lines of pocketed soldiers –Wutai and Shinra alike. A few, tense minutes later the bombs ceased as the gunners too received the orders. Sephiroth snapped out his PHS again, eyes never leaving the Wutai Commander's challenging gaze.

"Yo, General, whassup?" The words were decidedly slurred, and Sephiroth ground his teeth.

"Have you been drinking, Turk?"

A beat, and Sephiroth could almost see the red-head sitting up straighter at the deadly tone. "Only a couple, yo."

"I want you to get yourself and a helicopter to me. Now. Are you going to crash it on the way?" He growled.

"When I said a couple, I meant a couple," Reno gripped. "I don't drink and fly, Tseng would have my ass."

Sephiroth grunted. Yes, the serious Turk Director would at that. He quickly gave Reno his coordinates. The Turk squawked, "Hey man, that's the middle of a fucking battle!"

"Not anymore. Ten minutes, Turk." With that he flipped the phone shut, feeling a pounding in his temple starting.

Reno got there in five. The Turk kept his mouth shut as the Co-General of the Wutai forces was loaded into the bed of his bird and he was given the orders to fly her to the CNO capital. One fiery-red brow rose, but he kept even the sarcastic comments in check. This was a job, and Turks don't ask questions on a job. Cloud jumped in next to Elfé's unconscious form, hand settling reverently on Shears's chest as he used the other to grasp Elfé's limp hand in his, squeezing it as if he could squeeze the life back into her.

As the helicopter door was sliding shut, Cloud's eyes locked on Sephiroth. Sephiroth couldn't read the expression there: gratitude, resentment, the whisper of that fluttering love? No. He was not going to start hoping. Cloud had made his position quite clear, and it was only Sephiroth who couldn't seem to accept that. Cloud had left. It was over. The fist of burning blue orbs hit him again as he remembered the look he'd received as the boy crouched protectively over his loved ones. 'Haven't you done enough?'

Sephiroth would withdraw into his tent tonight, arrange Angeal's body for transport back to Midgar, and lick his wounds. When he emerged the next morning he would be nothing short of the Ice General, the Demon of Wutai, and he would end this war by whatever means necessary. That's what men like him were created for after all, not for soft looks and silk-spun dreams of sweet kisses and secret whispers of love. Those belonged to another world, to another man. He'd only been deceiving himself before. But it was time to wake up now, put aside the lies of acceptance and love, and remember what years of living had drilled into the flesh of his soul: everyone used him. And when they were through, they discarded and left him. Alone.

They all hurt you in the end.


	15. The Witch's Bargain

The Calamity's Revenge

Chapter 15: The Witch's Bargain

The noonday sun peaked through the billowing curtains, lifting and swirling the sheer, poppy colored cloth like a giant's fingertips playing in dessert sand, and bathing the stuffy office rooms in the crisp scent of autumn. Genesis liked to feel the breeze on his skin as he worked, and Ryquendë thought the air was good for the twins' lungs, so they'd had double terrace doors installed in the joint office, and kept them open when the weather allowed.

The air here in Rocket Town was a vast improvement on Midgar's, Vincent thought. The Capital enjoyed mostly pollution free air, despite its booming population. The President was a child of the Planet, even if she largely ignored those roots, and some things ran blood deep. She'd insisted on importing the more expensive energy produced in Cosmo Canyon by its wind-catchers and sun-screens, much to North Coral and its oil production fields' displeasure. Rocket Town was not the green capital of the world by far though. Vehicles still ran on the crude oil refined in Coral, and a young economy and country like the CNO couldn't afford the high costs of the environmental friendly energy for everything: agricultural equipment ran on the heavy diesel, and the light, sweet oil North Coral's drilling fields were known for still produced the kerosene oil that was in such high demand in rural areas. Oil pipelines were cheaper to map the contentment with then the dangerous, and expensive, wire lines that conducted the green energy. Ryquendë had her new government carrying the extra cost of the Canyon energy for Rocket Town, but then most of the jobs in the capital were a shoot off of the government in some way.

Rocket Town had been dying when the rebellion had taken its first leap four years ago. Its biggest employer and financer, the Shinra Space Program, had packed up after the Rocket Launch failure, leaving hardship and want in its wake. But with the title of CNO's capital city came jobs and infrastructure. The white-stone Capital and lofty high-rise buildings now pieced the sky, with the President's sprawling mansion standing in its shadow, making Rocket Town a metropolis the envy of any other CNO city. Citizens of the new republic had come from all across the land to lend their hands, minds, and dreams to the building of their new star, the hope of their world, the CNO. But the price of prosperity always brought its flipside –poverty—as well, and while the dusted streets of downtown Rocket Town glowed under neon lights, the shanty towns were filled with those whose hopes had turned to brown-outs and freezing nights huddled between the aluminum walls of their shakes. Such was the price of progress, and such was the fate of any state that promised utopia. The CNO was but a cousin to Shinra and the hundred governments before them, every one promising a better world but unable to deliver.

Ryquendë had selected a winged office for herself after bringing a husband home for the Peace Talks. Neither seemed to want to be far from the other's side, and the combined affair eased the strain of the Hands' job of protecting them, so Vincent wasn't complaining. Ryquendë occupied the right wing, and across a common hall the door to General Rhapsodos's office stood ajar as usual, giving him a clear view of his wife's desk. The couples' insistence on the joint offices had raised more than a few eyebrows, but both the witch and her new husband had wanted the closeness.

Vincent thought he would be stifled having not even a moment of time alone. As much as he loved Chaos, they both needed time apart. Their linked-minds meant that they could reach out whenever they chose, but they knew each other at such a deep, all encompassing level, that it left a desperation for individualism and privacy at times.

Ryquendë emerged from her office, her son Gaius on her hip crying his hunger and demanding to be fed. The answering cry of his brother could be heard through the CNO General's propped door.

"Valentine, warm up the babies' milk." Vincent took the offered bottles from Ryquendë without comment, used to being roped into helping the young parents by now.

It was time for the noon meal –the twins had made sure no one had forgotten with their loud crying. An assistant had already brought in a spread of simple sandwiches, seasoned potato spreads, and asparagus stalks for the General and President, but they wouldn't get a chance to eat until their sons were settled.

When the witch had given birth to her two sons she had made the unorthodox decision to bring them to work with her. Some of the Council Members thought it 'sweet' and showed what an exceptional mother she was, but Vincent knew the truth: the witch simply didn't trust her children in anyone else's care. In the beginning the boys had slept through most of the day, but at seven months they were becoming more active. A play pin had been brought in, and they were able to crawl about and gnaw their teething gums upon rubber toys, but they both craved being held and played with by their parents, and while both Genesis and Ryquendë were of a habit to indulge their children, it did make paper work difficult trying to juggle a baby and pen.

Vincent returned with the warmed milk, ignoring Elena's snicker. The Hand took far too much pleasure in seeing her boss turned into a nursemaid and forgot her own disgust when she was regulated to nappy changer, something Vincent absolutely refused to endure. Ryquendë had Gaius bouncing on her hip, the child's grey, silt-pupplied eyes tearing over as he cried for nourishment. She shot Vincent a scathing look at the delay, snatching the bottle out of his hand and popping it into her fussing son's mouth. The gunman grudging allowed that the witch was an attentive mother, but she had a habit of taking all the frustrations the twins created out on everyone else.

She coed softly to Gaius, running her pointed nails through his head of russet curls, and smoothing away the fat tears that had gathered in his grey eyes.

"Rye, have you seen my report on the monster statistics around Gongaga? I had it on my desk only this morning." Their other son Taurus had one chubby hand fisted in his father's auburn hair, the exact shade of his own wispy plumes, as Genesis marched out of his office, a tight frown between his brows.

Ryquendë tossed her silver head, "I need it for the Council meeting in an hour." She shot a glare at the clock. "Icicle City's Reprehensive is trying to push through a bill to get more guards stationed at the borders –men we don't have. The Council needs to be reminded that the boarder doesn't hold a monopoly on troop shortages."

Genesis grunted his approval and scooped up the second warmed bottled, before sliding into one of the chairs at the spread table. "Just get it back to me when you're done, Rye. Talking about troop shortages is fine, but I'm the one who has to plan those men's missions."

Ryquendë shot her husband a look at his chiding, but settled in the opposite chair without a word of protest. There wasn't another being on the Planet who could reprimand the witch without stirring her legendary temper besides her husband, unfortunately the man had a tendency to agree with most of his wife's decisions so the witch remained largely unchallenged in her governance of the CNO.

The couple stared on their meal, sons nestled contentedly in their laps, and Vincent found his attention drifting. The sight was hardly a new one; it had been a tradition between the two since Ryquendë had brought the General home from the Wutai Peace Talks.

Elena wandered from her post at the door out to the terrace, and Vincent didn't call her back. Even on this seemingly lazy afternoon the Hand would never lower her guard even as she enjoyed the hazy sun's warmth on her open skin as she ran fingertips over the posies, lambs' ears, and tulip blooms that were artfully arranged in little stone planters. Vincent knew just how restless Elena could get, unlike many of the other Hands –and Turks—Elena was not good at waiting. She liked to jump head first into the action, guns blazing like some old western re-run. Waiting and patience were a large part of Hand life though, and Elena was like a caged, rabid ferret running on her wheel over and over to keep from throwing herself at the bars. She had gotten better at controlling it over the years, and now it was just a matter of letting the restless energy out a trickle at a time, controlling it, harnessing that wildness and using it to her benefit. She was an excellent Hand for just that reason: she adapted. She found a weakness –in herself, in an opponent—and she turned it to her advantaged. Flexibility, independent thinking, and a lack of morals: those are what made an exemplarily Hand, or Turk.

Vincent's own mind wandered even as his body remained still, posed in the image of an attentive body guard. He reached out to brush the ever-present awareness of his lover in the back of his mind. Chaos's delight had been spearing through him, settling in his toes, for the past hour. Whatever the demon was occupying himself with, it must be far more entertaining than watching the witch feed her children.

Chaos trilled a welcome, pulling Vincent into a mind-embrace when he felt the other's touch, and sent flashes of images, sounds, and smells into Vincent's mind, wanting his lover to share in his joy.

He dove, like a missile, like a falcon, towards the racing ocean waves, and they rose to greet him, bathing him with their salty tongue. His wings pulled in tight, the water splitting and flowing about him as he plundered her depths.

He tasted the harshness of brine, and felt the sea roll over him as he slipped through it in a corkscrew turn like an otter. The ocean broke before him, around him, swallowing him as he plunged into her depths as a man enters a woman. A school of silver-fined fish darted and danced around him. His legs beat the ocean white behind him. Bubbles popped from his mouth, sliding down his belly, tickling him as they sought the surface above. He laughed and it was a muffled gurgle.

A clawed hand arched forward, grasping at the beauty beyond his reach. His lungs begged for air, but he'd reach it next time, just a little higher a fall, a little more momentum and he'd be there, in that colorful city of sea plants and snuggling ocean dwellers.

He wanted to dance savagely with the white, shifting sands, and paint patterns in its rough medium like a coyote through snow as he courts the moon. He wanted to pluck a poisons water flower, trail the sensitive pads of his fingers over a jelly fish's tentacles, and wrestle a lurking tiger shark into submission, all snapping jaws, serpentine musk, and yellow-fire eyes.

He flipped, somersaulting weightlessly through the water to face the surface again. His legs bowed out behind him before his calves snapped together and propelled his body to the surface. Closer, closer, until the water twisted the sunrays and sent them like glittering jewels back into his eyes, and then beyond that to where the ocean lapped greedily at the air, and cold wind slapped his wet form.

He broke the surface, shooting straight into the sky, wings carrying him up, up, up. Water droplets a shower behind him, the sharp slap of the ocean wind –bitter on his tongue with bier—flinging the water from his feathery mane and causing shivers to rack his frame. But higher and higher he went, paying the shock of cold no mind.

He felt his lover's delight like a tongue kissing the back of his throat as he showed off Gaia's beauty to the greatest beauty of them all: Vincent.

Vincent was all around him, inside his skin, a precious gem nestled in his mind. His lover's scent filled him like a drug, and it was a deep forest in his mind: the cool shade under tangled cedars, a bear's heavy heartbeat, a rock's mineral tang, an autumn berry's juice under his claws.

His lover's name was a moan under his skin, rippling down his muscles: Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. So close he could not feel where one began and the other ended. He wanted to press his face into the dark fall of Vincent's hair, kiss the soft skin between Vincent's fingers, bury his nose in Vincent's nape and devour his lover's scent. He wanted to slide their chests together until he felt Vincent's heart beat across his flesh and the sweetness of Vincent's sex within him. And fall into Vincent's strength, his love, and taste wine-dark kisses and the hard angles of Vincent's body over his, covering him, marking him, until he knew they were one being and one breath.

Chaos, Chaos, Chaos. Vincent's lips ghosted his name across his mind, gathering the desires like fallen diamonds, before spinning his own back at Chaos as they wove a net of promised passion between them. Soon. Soon I will have you, and knit my love into your skin until it is a painted canvass of our desire. Tonight, lover, tonight. And then there will be no time, no day, no night, only your breath, your voice, your heart turned next to mine. Too long, until I hold you again. Need you. Now. Never let you go. No word; no word for this love, so much, so full of you, not enough, fill me, love me, there is only forever. The stars shall fall and the world be remade, and still I shall love you. Always.

Chaos hovered. A great torrent of air was displaced by the expanse of mighty wings beating down. He held, gathering the anticipation of his lover about him, teasing him. And then he dove, down, down, down, clutching Vincent's presence to himself like the finest mantle. Vincent's joy was a throbbing thing, pounding against his ribs, hot in his mouth as they fell. Faster, faster. Wings tucked tight. The ocean a savage, beating thing beneath them, the air a wild horse screaming in their ears as they split through it like a fighter plane, their speed incredible, reckless, and dazzling. They hit the rolling sea and Chaos laughed, and Vincent laughed, and the ocean laughed.

Vincent was pulled abruptly back into his body by the ringing of his PHS. He felt Chaos's disappointment, and it was an echo of his own. Chaos was so free. Vincent longed for such freedom, but then reminded himself that that was not who he was. Chaos spent his days amidst the Planet's wonders and Vincent was happy for him, but knew that was not his place. He needed the direction of his work, the purpose, the job. But he thrilled in the delights his lover experienced, and more, the nights they spent in each other's arms.

With one last promise of tonight, he broke his connection to Chaos and flipped open the phone, raising an eyebrow at the caller ID. "Reno?" He had no idea why the Turk would be calling him; they hadn't spoken in almost two months, not since he left Midgar. He hoped Tseng and the Turks weren't in some sort of trouble. He liked the reserved Turk, and would dare to call Tseng a friend, even if he was a Turk –or rather,_ because_ he was a Turk. It had been a gamble for the Turks to work so closely with the CNO delegation, and Vincent did not want them to come to regret that alliance.

"No, it's Cloud. I…Papa—" Cloud choked off, and Vincent's hand tightened on the phone until his knuckles whitened. He'd never heard Cloud address him as such, and it sent a chill down his spine. Something terrible had happened.

"What is it? Are you hurt?"

"Not me. Shears and Elfé, oh god, they're…." Cloud stopped again, needing a chance to center himself. "Shears is dead. And Elfé is wounded. Badly. We're on our way now, I…we'll be there in an hour. She's…Sephiroth…he stabbed her." Cloud finished in a dead voice, and Vincent's heart lurched. No. No. No. This was everything he'd feared would happen if his sons met in battle again, everything he'd worked so hard in Midgar to prevent.

"I'll alert the hospital. I assume its Reno flying you in?" He didn't ask how a Shinra Turk came to be flying enemy combatants out of Wutai. They could deal with that later.

"Yes, and…I think we might need the witch." Cloud said in a voice sounding like sandpaper, and Vincent didn't blame him. Ryquendë's help had a price.

"I'll ask." He promised, hoping it would not come to that.

"Thank-you. I…"

"Just hold on, Cloud . You'll be here soon and then every—"

"Don't say everything will be alright!" Cloud snapped, and while that was not what Vincent was going to say, he let it lay. "Nothing will ever be alright again. Shears is dead. Dead. And Elfé—" his voice broke.

Well. It was the first time Cloud was losing someone so close to him. Vincent had lost everything before, and not dealt with it well himself. It hurt him to hear the raw grief in his son's voice, but while he felt a measure of loss for Shears, and would again if Elfé died, it would be eclipsed by worry for his son –both of them. He did not think for a moment that Sephiroth had not been affected by what had occurred. As soon as he was able, he'd be visiting his blood-son and hang the danger. He'd failed Sephiroth too many times before to leave him alone now.

"I know, Cloud," he said quietly. "I know."

The helicopter touched down on the hospital's landing pad forty-six minutes later, and a crew was already waiting to pull the injured woman onto a wheeled hospital bed and usher her into emergency care. Cloud was white-faced as he emerged from the helicopter's belly, his hand still clutching Shears.

Vincent settled a bracing hand upon his son's shoulder. "We'll have him buried with honor."

"Graves don't mean anything." Cloud said numbly, but he pressed his face into Vincent's shoulder.

"No, they don't, but funerals do." The gunman ran his human fingers down Cloud's bent spine, soothing.

Reno jumped out of the pilot's seat, pale green eyes watching them as he leaned back against his bird, pulling out a smoke and lighting up. Vincent gave the Turk a nod, which Reno returned, blowing a line of smoke out of his hollowed mouth. The gunman knew he owed the Turks for this one, and they would be sure to collect at a later date, but he didn't mind. Hell, he already owned Tseng for the incident with Hollander and Veld, this debt was nothing compared to that.

"Give my regards to Tseng," he said as he steered Cloud towards the swinging emergency doors through which Elfé had been rushed.

"Will do, yo." The Turk mock saluted before hopping back into the pilot's seat.

Vincent heard the whole broken tale from Cloud as they occupied the waiting room, the boy pacing agitatedly as they waited for word of Elfé's condition.

When Cloud finally slumped, exhausted, into one of the padded chairs, Vincent concluded, "So, it was Commander Hewley who killed Shears, and then Elfé killed the Commander?"

Cloud leaned his head back into the wall, golden spikes clashing terribly with the violet and lime green flowered wall paper. "And Sephiroth who…"

Vincent didn't say anything to that. Yes, it was everything he had feared, judging from the raw edges of Cloud's voice was he said the man's name. Cloud didn't know it yet, but Vincent wasn't going to let it end like this. He was not one to push people in directions they did not want, but in this he would, if only to maintain a friendship. Sephiroth and Cloud needed each other more than either had probably realized yet, and they had been happy, so happy, together. Vincent wasn't going to let this War, this tragedy, tear that apart.

It seemed like hours, though it was only forty minutes, before a surgeon came out of the double swinging doors, pulling down his face mask with a bloody glove as he walked briskly towards them. His eyes were grim, and Cloud's hand convulsed on Vincent's arm where the boy seized him.

"We've done all we can, gentleman," the doctor said. "She's stabilized, and has regained consciousness. At this point, with no other factors, I'd estimate a sixty percent likelihood of survival. The medical aid she received on the field, and slight mako traces in her blood, saved her life without a doubt."

"But," Vincent prompted when the doctor paused.

"Yes, but," the man sighed. "She regained consciousness as I said, and has been briefed on her condition as is the hospital's policy on patient's rights. We did not withhold the condition of the fetus, it experienced a shock, and with the Mako Poisoning it was already suffering from… Well, there's nothing to be done. We had to sedate her again; she became hysterical after the news, and was likely to re-open the stitches. Such emotional distress can undermine the physical healing which is why I'm concerned about recovery."

"I need to see her," Cloud insisted.

"It would be best to have friends about her when she re-awakens," the doctor agreed. He led them through the sterile white corridors, and Vincent found his claw twitching, and prickles of cold sweat break out on his forehead. He hated hospitals.

His distress must have bled through the thin barriers he kept between his mind and Chaos's, for suddenly he was surrounded by his lover as if the strong arms were physically about him. He tasted brimstone, and it drowned out the memory of antiseptics coating his tongue. He was overwhelmed, until his toes balled in pointed, metal shoes and he was reforged by Chaos –his touch, his heat, his power, his voice, his scent (Gaia; his lover always smelt of the Planet).

/_Vincent_/ And Vincent wrapped the other about him, taking him like a vest, a shield, a spear, into the nightmare of his past. No words were needed, even thought was a disjoined language in his mind at that moment. Only impressions, sensations, feelings remained, and Chaos soothed them all, a calming breath pooling in the hollows of his wrists, the dip of his collar bone, the weave of his hair, veining every surface of his body.

Chaos gave him the strength to swallow it all down –the memories, and sharp-edged panic—and force himself to go on into the bowles of the beast –this deceitfully innocent place they call a hospital. Cloud needed his support now, and he would not fail his son: not this time.

Elfé's skin was white as the starch sheets she lay on; her limbs looked fragile as a newborn fawns with only the thin hospital gown for protection. Cloud slid his hand into hers, thumb rubbing the lacework of blue veins on its back.

"Elfé," Cloud's voice came on the crest of a sob, "Elfé."

Her eyelids fluttered open like a dark butterfly's wings against the paleness of her face. Her brown eyes were listless with the drugs pumping through her. But it only took her a moment to re-orientate herself. She was a warrior after all. Her body was trained to fight invaders, and coupled with the summon materia in her arm eating away any foreign substances (Mako and drugs alike), the sedatives were easily negated.

"Shears. Cloud, I need Shears!" She gasped, eyes wild.

"Elfé he's…"

Her face hardened. The pointed angles of her jaw were like blades, her cheekbones like the majestic sweep of a hawk's wings. "Don't. Don't." She looked away. "Gone," and the word tore like gravel from her throat. "Dead." She pierced Cloud with her eyes again, and they glowed with tears she struggled to hold back. "Bring him to me."

"I…alright. Alright." Cloud promised, glancing helplessly at Vincent.

"Stay with her," was all the gunman said before leaving them. He'd see it done.

When Vincent had tracked frown the dead body of Shears and was wheeling it on one the hospital beds –silencing all protests with a glare fierce enough to make anyone backpedal—he received an unpleasant surprise outside Elfé's room. Ryquendë was lurking there, watching Cloud and Elfé through the door's checker-pained glass. It really shouldn't have been a surprise. He'd done as Cloud asked and briefed the witch on the situation, saying only that the hospital staff might not be able to save the woman. He'd made sure not to commit them to anything, they could call the witch if it became necessary, but if they could save Elfé without the witch's interference it would save much future grief. They hadn't needed Ryquendë's 'help,' but here she was, snooping out weakness like a blood hound on the scent.

"Witch," he snapped, wanting her out of the way so he could wheel Shears's body in.

Her lips pursed, angered by his disrespect as he knew she would be, but he wasn't on duty now. "Its Mrs. President or Lady to you, Valentine."

He just grunted and started forward, forcing her to more aside or be rammed. She moved and he was almost disappointed. Ryquendë followed him into the room without asking for permission. He carefully pushed the bed next to Elfé's, and she immediately reached to clasp Shears's cold hand, interlacing their fingers. Her breathing was raspy, and Vincent worried this was too much exertion for one day. The woman was not out of danger yet.

"I never told you," Elfé whispered to her dead lover, though everyone in the room could hear. "I wish, I wish I'd told you." Shaky fingers brushed the soiled bandana from Shears's brow, spikes of black hair peaking out. "I'm pregnant. You would've been so happy. I wish I could have seen you smile, baby, just one more time. I am so sorry, so sorry. It's all my fault." Trembling lips pressed into the lifeless palm, and tears finally slipped from her eyes to land on the callused hand of her lover as if he were still there to wipe them away.

Vincent had learned a few things about death in his fifty-six years of existence (he would not call the twenty-two he spent in a soulless coffin life). But more than the uncounted faceless men and woman who had died by his gun, he'd discovered the true horror, the full reality of what he dealt out with those indifferent metal bullets, when Death had taken the one he'd loved –Lucrecia.

Death was a severance. A permanent, inescapable severance. The end. It didn't matter how many prayers you whisper in the dark hours of the night, or how many unsent letters you wrote where the only mailing address was a grave marker, the dead were never going to answer back, and your words, your pleas, your desolate cries for forgiveness, would never be heard. That was why people feared it so. Not only was Death the unknown and inescapable, but it was the final severing. There were no re-dos, no one more moment, one more smile, one more laugh. Death was the end, and there was no bargaining with it. You could spend a lifetime on your knees before Death and it would never bring those taken back to life.

Vincent entertained thoughts occasionally of a life after death. But nothing was sure. There was the Nothingness he'd tasted at his own death, and then there was the desperate _need _for more, for it not to be the final, forever goodbye. Perhaps everyone, even a man who'd faced the reality of Death's cold embrace, had to keep hoping, praying, that there was something more than the dissolution of his soul into a collective stream of energy in which his past life, past dreams, past loves, meant nothing. Nothing at all.

"I want another surgery." Elfé's voice was muffled where her mouth buried in Shears's skin, but clear. "I want the summon materia removed. Today."

"No, Elfé, you can't." Cloud protested. "Your body couldn't handle the shock."

"I want it out. It'll kill the baby. No more Mako shots. No more materia."

"Elfé…" Cloud fumbled.

"The child is not going to live." Vincent finished what Cloud could not. "There is nothing to be done."

"No!" Elfé cried. "No, there has to be something. I am not going to lose it too."

And now, at the moment of greatest vulnerability, the edge of the teetering precipice, Ryquendë stepped forward. "I may be able to save your child's life."

Elfé's eyes snapped to slit silver, a terrible hope kindling. "Do it. Do whatever you have to."

"Elfé, no!" Cloud pleaded.

The witch ignored him. "No human child can survive what you've allowed to occur –the Mako Poisoning." Elfé's face contorted in anger and desperation as the hope was snatched away, but Ryquendë was not finished. "There is something to be done, though. One of the Cetra could endure such a strong touch of the Planet's blood."

Elfé's brow furrowed. She knew only the basics of what the CNO's President was, and next to nothing about Ryquendë's legendary race, the Ancients. "But you can save my baby?"

"Yes," a pause, "at a price."

"No, I won't let you do this!" Cloud cried, moving forward to attack the witch or fling himself upon Elfé's reason, Vincent did not know, but he put a restraining hand upon his son's arm and bent to council, "It is Elfé's choice, Cloud. Let us hear the terms." And then to the witch, "What price? Name it before this goes any further."

Ryquendë frowned, shrewd eyes flickering over Vincent and Cloud's wary faces and Elfé's desperate one. "What are you prepared to give?"

"Anything. Anything in my power, even my life," Elfé breathed like a pilgrim at a shrine.

"No!" Cloud chocked, his whole body staking against Vincent's chest.

"Your death is of no use to me," the witch dismissed. "But there is one thing I desire of yours. However," she paused, looking to Cloud and Vincent again, "I shall not ask it until after your agreement."

Elfé did not hesitate. "You have it. I give you my word, whatever you ask it is yours."

"No, that will not do," Ryquendë chided. "You must swear an Unbreakable Vow in the ancient tongue of my people that you shall give me this one desire when I ask if of you, whatever it shall be."

Cloud lunged forward, griping Elfé's wrist, "No, Elfé, you mustn't. You don't know her, what she's capable of."

Elfé's face was set, she would not be persuaded, and Vincent knew she would agree to the bargain. "Witch," he took control of the spiraling situation. "Leave us. She will give you an answer in one hour."

Ryquendë opened her mouth to protest the delay, but Vincent had his hand clearly settled upon his gun, a challenging look in his red eyes, and she backed down. "An hour," she snapped before sweeping from the room, skirts swirling about her like water.

Vincent listened to Cloud beg Elfé to reconsider for some moments, seeing how his son's pleas fell on deft ears. He knew the woman would not reconsider no matter the price, and understood the desperation behind her decision as Cloud could not. He would have given anything, anything –his life, his happiness, even more years as Hojo's lab rat—if only Lucrecia could have lived. He would have made a bargain with the devil for his soul to save her. He would not pay such a price now. Love her he always would, but he loved others more. Still, he could understand what Elfé was suffering. If she did not take the witch's bargain her child would surly die, and Vincent didn't think the swordswoman thought she had anything left to lose.

"Cloud," he interrupted gently. "I would speak to Elfé alone for a moment."

Cloud's face showed surprise at the request, Vincent may consider Elfé a friend, but they were not terribly close. But he acquiesced, slipping out of the door with one last pleading look back at Elfé.

Vincent took a few steps closer to the bed. Elfé had her face turned away, towards her dead lover as if to press the lines of his profile into her memory so she would never forget. Vincent did not try to reason with her. There was only one thing left to establish: the authenticity of her devotion to the child she'd sacrificed for war. Perhaps the motivation of her sudden desire to keep the child didn't matter, even if it was freshly born from her lover's death, but he didn't want her to regret her choice because the desire faded upon reflection.

"Why didn't you stop taking the Mako injections?" He didn't accuse, and kept his voice soft and steady.

He saw Elfé's eyes squeeze shut. "Because I didn't want it, the baby, I didn't want it. That's why I never told Shears about the pregnancy. He would have been so happy, he'd always wanted…I thought, I thought it would just go away with the Mako and the summons, the War, it was enough to kill any fetus." She swallowed. "It would have tied me down, weakened me. I couldn't…I couldn't have kept it and the materia. I'd have had to have the summons removed, and then, then I'd be weak. Too weak to fight, too weak to…"

"And you're willing to sacrifice the strength of the materia for the baby now?"

"Yes. Even though I'll become weak and average, I will."

"You measure yourself by the strength of your body," Vincent said quietly, remembering a similar conversation he'd had with Cloud years ago. "But you still have your mind, sharp as any blade, years of experience and skill, and an inner power to match a loin's. You'll only be as weak as you allow yourself to become." Elfé blinked before nodding slowly as if she'd never heard such thoughts before. "The witch is devious." Vincent warned. "Whatever she wants is a high price, for she will not even name it yet. The oath will bind you with a strange magic, and it truly is unbreakable. Are you sure this is what you really want?"

"Yes." Her hands pressed into her bandaged stomach. "I didn't want the baby before, would have been relieved to know it was gone, but now….it's all I have left of him. I would do anything, pay any price, for its life."

"Very well," Vincent said. He left her then, sending Cloud back in, satisfied with her answers. Cloud might not understand, but he did. Some things were worth any price.

…..

Cloud was rung dry, like a rag a woman had twisted and beat until the last water droplet had been leached out. He was exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. He'd cried on the long helicopter ride, trying to muffle the sounds of his grief but knowing Reno heard, and feeling the guilt and shame like a stone in his belly with the knowledge that more than a few of the tears had been for himself.

He was too tried to cry now as he sat next to Shears on the bed, the empty space of Elfé's bed on his left, Vincent's quite but unwavering presence at his back. Cloud's arguments had been useless against Elfé's stubbornness. When the hour of fruitless begging was up, Elfé took the witch's deal, and Ryquendë led her through the foreign words of the oath that would bind her. And now, Elfé was in surgery again.

The summon materia that had been placed in her arm years ago by Hojo and given her the strength of a SOLDIER First Class, would be removed. If the baby was able to be saved, it wouldn't have lived long with the greedy materia shard in the swordswoman's arm; the materia would have sucked the life out of it. Ryquendë had explained the healing she would be administrating, but Cloud hadn't understood the half of it. As far as he could tell, Elfé's baby would be given the witch's cell; much like Lucrecia Crescent was injected with them by Hojo. The Cetra cells would be able to endure the Mako already swimming in the four month old baby's veins. The procedure was dangerous, and Elfé could easily be killed in her fragile state.

Cloud turned to look at the open door again, willing this to be over and not wanting to hear the outcome at the same time. His eyes fell upon Ryquendë's form just outside the room, seated primly upon a vinyl cushioned hospital chair and awaiting the conclusion of the first step of the surgery –the materia extraction. Cloud was struck by his own detachment. He felt nothing as he looked at her, only muted thoughts of resentment and adoration that seemed to reach him through a filter and left only empty shards of the raw pull he'd once felt for his Lady. It was as if the strings that had pulled him to her for so many years had been severed. He had no desire to kneel before her feet, no craving to feel her fingers running through his hair and the words of love upon her lips. One and a half years it had been since he'd seen her, and he'd outgrown her in those months. He didn't need her anymore. In some twisted way she had been more of a mother to him then his own, and a goddess, his queen, his Lady, his slaver, his weakness, but she was none of those things now. Just a woman. A woman who had hurt him, and strangely enough, given him everything he'd ever wanted as a child in Nibelheim. He couldn't even muster up hatred for what she would no doubt take from Elfé. It was who she was: she took, she fed from others' weaknesses. She was like a scavenging bird, a vulture, feeding off the dead. Yet using the carouses of others to nurture her young, the little chicks she would fight tooth and nail to protect.

Cloud was overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of kinship with two children he'd never even seen before –Ryquendë's sons. He wondered what their lives would be like, raised under her wing with the strength of their father's sword at their backs. Their parents would do anything, kill anyone, who tried to bring them harm, and Cloud might have felt jealous for such a fiercely protective love once, but no longer. He might never have known a mother's love, but his adoptive father would do just the same in his defense. He hoped the two boys he felt so close and so far away from would thrive, even though he knew he would have suffocated under the witch's dominion.

All the serenity he felt at the realization of Ryquendë's powerlessness over him was but a thin veneer over the horror of this day. He sat now, not knowing if his mentor, his friend, the woman he loved as a sister, would die along with her lover, killed in a desperate attempt to save a child most likely too far gone in the Mako Poisoning to survive. And then there was the one he supposed he'd already lost, but felt the crippling pain of all over again: Sephiroth.

Cloud had tried to hate him, in that moment when Elfé lay chocking on her own blood and crying hopelessly for Shears in his arms. He'd tried to hate Sephiroth, had wanted to, oh how he'd wanted to rip his love from his chest and discard it upon the blood-soaked jungle floor. He'd wanted to forget every treasured, aching moment he'd ever spent with the man. He needed to hate Sephiroth for Shears and Elfé's sake. It might be irrational and unfair, but wasn't that loyalty? Didn't he owe Shears and Elfé that? But how could he hate Sephiroth, even now? Could he have hated Elfé had their places been reversed and it was she who had cut down Sephiroth? No, not even then, how could he? How could he choose? He felt like a traitor, and wasn't sure if it was to Sephiroth for betraying his love, or Elfé and Shears for not being able to hate the man. But he knew now that he could never hate Sephiroth. Sephiroth could rape the world and paint the skies in blood and flame, and still he'd love him. For what are a million impersonal lives lost compared to Shears and Elfé's? Human begins are selfish creatures, and he is no different. He was no hero. He was just a boy, a boy who loved and watched his loved ones slip like sand between the cracks of his desperate fist, leaving him empty, with only the imprint of their memories upon his skin.

Cloud's attention was snapped back to the bleak room when a surgeon came to usher Ryquendë through the ominously swinging doors that led to the operating rooms. The first stage of the surgery must be complete. Cloud couldn't bear another minute of this endless waiting with no word, and not knowing if there was even a hope… Cloud caught at the doctor's white sleeve as the woman made to follow the witch back again. "How is she?" He begged.

The doctor hesitated, eyes anxiously glancing towards the waiting doors, but then she sighed. "The materia has been successfully removed from her arm, but I am afraid it's too early to tell yet. Now I must get back." Cloud was left staring blankly at the double doors as they swung back and forth, back and forth in some taunting dance.

"I fear it is in the witch's hands now, Cloud," Vincent said, but for once Cloud found no relief in his father's deep voice.

It was several hours before they heard anymore news, and Cloud was wound tighter then a bridge suspension cord. Vincent and he had wandered back to the main waiting rooms in that time, Vincent determined to get some food into him, but it all tasted like ash in Cloud's mouth. Finally a nurse came to lead them back into the recovery wing of the hospital, and to the room they'd found Elfé in after the first surgery which seemed a lifetime ago now.

Cloud was relieved to see Shears's body still lying there, though a sheet had been pulled over his slack face. It may be unorthodox to have a dead body housed such, but Elfé needed all the comfort she could get at the moment, and if she wanted Shears with her, then she would have what was left of him.

Elfé's gaunt face greeted them as Cloud stepped cautiously forward, thankful for Vincent's unwavering presence at his side as he took in Elfé's appearance. Her skin was stretched thin and waxy like a corpse, but he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She was still alive. Her eyes cracked open wearily as Cloud clasped her hand, sinking into the bed beside her.

She offered him a faint smile. "It's alright, the baby's alright."

Cloud could care less about the baby as long as Elfé would live, but he gave her an encouraging smile all the same. "That's wonderful, Elfé."

The female doctor interrupted them then, weary bags under her eyes and a clipboard griped tightly between her knuckles, but a relieved look in her brown eyes. "Elfé," she began gently, "Do I have your permission to inform your friends of the surgery's outcome?" Elfé gave a weak nod.

"It was a success," the doctor said at Elfé's consent. "The summon materia has been removed. There will be some side effects; your body will need time to adjust. It has suffered quite a shock, and you will need to make sure you eat regularly as your body will be craving the energy it drew from the materia and Mako shots it once received. Also, you will experience fatigue, and will need to rest frequently. The fetus is in a delicate state, and you'll need to take extra care of yourself."

"And the baby, my baby will live?" Elfé needed to hear the words again.

"It is still too early to tell, but the fetus has recovered from the Mako Poisoning, which is quite…" the doctor seemed at a lost for what exactly to call the miraculous turn of events, and glanced at Ryquendë who stood silent and watchful in the doorway.

"That will be all doctor." The witch dismissed the woman.

"Oh, yes, of course," the doctor cast another nervous glance between the room's occupants before taking her leave. Cloud was not surprised by her confusion. Whatever Ryquendë had done to Elfé's baby, it would not be something the doctor, or any human, had seen before.

Ryquendë stepped forward, softly closing the door behind her, silver eyes surveying the three guarded gazes turned upon her. "It is done. The child shall live. My part of the bargain has been fulfilled."

Elfé licked her lips, "Thank-you. I…" her throat closed, and her hand pressed into her abdomen. "I can never repay you for my child's life."

Ryquendë looked unaffected by the mother's heartfelt gratitude. "You can, and will, when you honor your oath." She paused, then, "Would you hear my terms now?"

Elfé's fingers squeezed Cloud's in a death grip, and he held her back, terrified of what would come out of the witch's mouth. Ryquendë had said Elfé's death would serve no purpose, and Cloud was desperately trying to cling to that truth. They could get through this as long as Elfé lived.

"Yes," Elfé finally agreed, her face tight.

Ryquendë stepped closer like a predator stalking its prey, circling past Vincent who stood silent and sharp-eyed as a watchdog tracking a rat, and halted at the foot of Elfé's bed, one elegant hand threading lazily through the blanket. "My price is the child."

Elfé's already white face paled further until it resembled a skull, bone-white and emancipated with the toll of a day sent from hell. "No. No. No. NO!"

Ryquendë was unmoved by the woman's cries. "I will raise the child as my own—"

"I won't let you take my baby!" Elfé's arms braced her stomach like a shield, doubling over as if she could protect the baby with her body. "Anything, anything else, just please, please not my baby. Not _my baby_!"

"Don't you understand, foolish girl? The child is more mine then yours now." Elfé stared in shock at the witch's words. "I told you a human could not survive the Mako exposure. I told you what would occur. If you could not grasp what it meant to infuse the child with my cells, a Cetra's cells, then your hysteria is the fault of your own ignorance." The witch's voice was hard and unforgiving in the face of Elfé's anguish.

"But Shears, Shears, the baby was the last part of him, the last—"

Ryquendë cut off Elfé's despairing words, "Unfortunately I had to use the male's contribution –inferior as it may be. Simply put, since you seem incapable of understand the beauty of what I accomplish here, the child in your womb is almost a pure blend of your lover and myself with only a small percentage of your cells remaining." Ryquendë had a look of ecstatic pride upon her face as she revealed this, as if she had accomplished something marvelous by stealing Elfé's baby.

"NO! I won't let you take my baby!" Elfé shook her head wildly, eyes glazed with a feverish light.

Ryquendë scoffed, "You made an oath. Would you rather the child be dead? For that is what your neglect of it would have cause without my assistance, you can be sure of that."

"How can you be so cruel, to take another's child? What if it had been your sons? Have you so little feeling in your heart?" Cloud knew the answer to Elfé's questions, or at least he would have swore he did, but then he saw a flickering in silver eyes, a minuscule shift in the haughty face, and his breath caught in a desperate beat of hope, maybe…

Ryquendë's brow furrowed, and she looked away from the pleading, broken woman on the bed before her. Finally she answered, the words sounding like they'd been torn grudgingly from a conscious Cloud would never have believe the witch possessed, if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. "It is not as if you shall never see the child again. It will be raised alongside my sons as if I bore it from my own body. _But_, I will consent to _occasional_ visits from its birth mother."

"How generous," Cloud sneered. He'd almost thought, for one heart-stopping moment that the witch would retract her horrendous price and do something decent for once. More fool him.

"I think you've done enough witch," Vincent cut in as Ryquendë's face twisted in rage. "Let them be."

For once Ryquendë listened to someone besides herself, and she clamped her jaw over whatever spiteful words she'd been about to hurl. She drew herself up, the usual arrogant tilt lifting her chin again as she dismissed them all disdainfully with one bruising glare. Her heavy skirts swirled about her ankles like ruffed wings as she swept from the room, but not before landing one last barb over her shoulder, "The oath will hold you in the end," and let the door snap shut behind her, leaving a silence only penetrated by Elfé's bitter weeping.

….

The shadows pressed like thumbprints under Zack's eyes and stood out starkly against his sweat-slicked face; his normally tanned skin had an ashen hue now. Zack huffed a call for a break, palm pressing into his side as he propped the heavy weight of Buster Sword against the padded training room wall. Sephiroth had given Zack Angeal's sword knowing it's what the Commander would have wanted, but Zack was still getting used to the new heft –so much greater than the standard issue broadswords'.

It had been over a month since Sephiroth had sent Angeal's body home (to Midgar) for burial, but it had only been a few days since he'd returned 'victorious' from the Second Wutai War. Sephiroth was secretly relieved that he had missed those first weeks of Zack's grief, and pierced with guilt at his own inability to deal with his friend. He told himself that he wouldn't have known what to say had he been here, and would have just caused more pain in awkward attempts to ease the other's suffering, but the truth was: he was just more comfortable running away.

Sephiroth had stuffed all his own regret down, funneling it into the War, and brought a swift and bloody end to a pointless conflict that had accomplished nothing but more death. He had not shed a tear for Angeal; he did not morn, or even think about the dead First if he could help it. He was in denial, he knew, but as far as he was concerned Angeal's death, and that shattered day on a Wutai battlefield, had never happened.

Zack was handling Angeal's death better then Sephiroth had anticipated, though he had not been here for those first hard weeks after the news and by now the wound had aged. They hadn't spoken of Angeal. Zack had tried at first, but Sephiroth had shut down that line of conversation like a door closing on a prison cell. Selfish, pointless fleeing, but he did not know how to handle grief –not Zack's, and certainly not his own. Now, the only signs of Angeal's death were the bruises from sleepless nights under Zack's eyes, and the edges of a jaded sorrow circling his pupils, leaving Sephiroth to wonder if Angeal and his own friendship had been the only one crippled by the First's terminal sickness. There could only be so many unreturned calls and brush-offs before a relationship –no matter how strong—began to suffer.

The realization of just how far Angeal had distanced himself was a painful one. Sephiroth did not like thinking that Angeal might have felt alone when he died. And where had Genesis been? Their friendship had seemed impenetrable at one time, but Sephiroth didn't know if Genesis was even aware of Angeal's passing, or if he cared.

Sephiroth wished he could help Zack –who seemed to be his only remaining friend—but talk of Angeal inevitable led to thoughts of Cloud which circled back to that day in Wutai where it seemed he lost everything. But that was a lie. He'd never had _anything_, nothing but an illusion constructed from the loneliness in his own heart. A fool's dream. Well, he wasn't dreaming now. He was wide awake, so painfully awake.

He'd kept his promise to himself though: when the sergeants' baying wake up calls heralded in the dawn the day after that catastrophic battle, he had emerged from his tent, stepping out into the drizzle and sucking mud of a Wutai rainy seasons, with a face like carved marble, and voice like shards of dead, dry ice. And he had brought an end to a wasteful War thirty-nine days later.

It wasn't honorable, they grumble behind his back, but he didn't care. He had re-earned his title, Demon of Wutai, and they all feared him again. A god, their eyes whispered. A Dark God, he scorned back from his mind, will you worship me? Will you sacrifice your sons to Shinra to stand in my ranks, and your daughter for me to fuck?

They screamed their love for him as Shinra paraded him, their pet War Hero, through the city streets, confetti catching in his hair and ears throbbing with the clashing instruments singing Shinra's triumph. He tasted bile at the word –love, love, love—and felt pain, pain, pain, as he was washed in a sea of loneliness. He mocked the word love, once upon a time, and was not blind to the irony that the word would now mark his destruction. _I fell in love with you._ Blue eyes fever-bright, voice as creamy and sweet as milk, skin like star-dust under the pale moonlight. A fantasy snuffed out even as the tips of his fingers reached out, out, out to brush its brilliant skin and bottle the laugh that promised him his heart's desire even as it faded away. Gone. No, never his, never truly his. A fool's dream.

He had shut off his conscious and walled up his heart, and cut Wutai to its knees (single-handedly Shinra would have the public believe). Honor had had no place there; he'd wanted nothing to do with it since Angeal's death. Honor hadn't saved Angeal. He had finished it and brought his men home. The War was over, and if he'd chosen the less honorable way, then so be it. But he could not see what honor there was in letting men –Shinra and Wutainese alike—die in a needless War, one everyone knew was finished the day General Elfé fell.

Sephiroth had slain the empress of Wutai, and Lord Godo had spat on his face and named him 'White Devil.' But the man had signed the Peace Treaty in the end. His wife's death had broken him as surely as a crowbar to the spine. A ruler with no fight left in his heart, was a Wutai without a head.

The slide of Masamune through the empress's body had been precision and rightness herself. It was the way things had to be. It was the sparing of ten-thousand lives. But thousands of Wutaines' lives were not worth the price of his wife's in Lord Godo's eyes. But in Sephiroth's opinion the emperor had earned all he had reaped. Wutai had had no business going to war with Shinra. They had done it out of pride, and they had lost. Everything. Shinra was the sole ruler of the Wutai Island now. There had been no bargains this time, and no delegation of lands and power.

But there had been no honor in the victory either; at least that is what they say behind their hands, as if Sephiroth's enhanced ears could not hear. If the empress had been a 'he' no-one would have spoke against his action, but he had killed a 'defenseless woman.' Did they not understand by now that everyone was defenseless against his blade? Man, woman, gender had no meaning against the inhuman strength he wielded.

As Sephiroth marched out of the Wutai Royal Palace, signed Peace Treaty in his fist and the shell of a man, a widower, in his wake, he'd been on the receiving end of a poorly thrown shuriken. He'd paused, halting the outraged murmurs of the other members of the Shinra delegation at the perceived assignation attempt, with a single dismissive gesture. There, balanced precariously upon a curved tooth of the Palace roof, had stood a defiant girl. Her dark hair chopped short in a sign of morning, and fierce grey eyes (the exact shade of the woman Sephiroth had slaughtered the night before) glittering with angry tears. Sephiroth had held the child's gaze a long moment, feeling he deserved this hate at least. He had looked upon her father's grief in disinterested; judging the man had earned it to some degree, but no child deserved to be deprived of a parent.

Bending, he picked up the discarded shuriken and retraced his stepped until he was able to leap effortless up to where the child perched. She squeaked; the fiery mask over her bottomless grief slipping as she was approached by the man who killed her mother. Sephiroth held out the weapon and said, "You need more practice, Princess Yuffie. But one day, I think you shall be a formidable warrior. You have the spirit of one." She gapped at him, mouth moving like a fish, eyes flashing between hate, anguish, confusion, and wonder. He meant to turn his back then and leave, but seemed compelled to add: "It is worth less than nothing, but I do regret your mother's death. However, it was necessary—"

She regained the use of her tongue then and spat, "Necessary! You _murdered_ my mother! You're a murderer and DEMON! I HATE YOU!" She finished in a scream.

Sephiroth did not flinch at the impressive volume, only countering firmly, "It was necessary in order to spare a thousand other daughters the loss of their mothers and fathers."

It had been pointless of course. No words could justify the death of a loved one, but Sephiroth felt he'd needed to say them. Maybe one day, in the distant future, the girl would understand.

Zack charged him, yanking him out of his thoughts with the harsh clang of steel as he swept Masamune up to meet the bulky blade of Buster Sword. Zack was a First Class in his own right, and the closest thing Sephiroth could come to a challenge among the Shinra's ranks, but Sephiroth had taken on both Genesis and Angeal in their prime. He didn't even break a sweat while sparing with the young First Class, but he never refused a training session. It was a must for stress relief, and he knew the sessions were helping Zack adjust to the new sword and learn how to wield its weight with grace.

….

Vincent watched from the shadows as his blood-son's elegant blade clashed with Fair's, appreciating the agile dance even if swords were not his passion. The gunman had risked Shinra's wrath by breaching their Tower and seeking out Sephiroth. He would have come sooner, but his son had been engaged in Wutai and only just returned from war. It had been an anxious month while he stayed by Cloud and Elfé's side, watching the toll her illness took upon them and waited for a chance to speak with Sephiroth.

The young woman was still weak from the surgery, and confined to her bed; the pregnancy would not be an easy one. But it was the listless glaze over once passionate eyes that worried him the most. Elfé had lost her will to live when the witch had announced her payment –Elfé's child. Now she lived in fear of the day she would lose her reason to live, and be regulated to a shadow, stalking her daughter's life from afar, only granted the sunlight of her little girl's company at Ryquendë's whim.

The two SOLDIERs' spar was drawing to a close, and Vincent dropped down from the high beam he'd been crouching on to catch a moment with them before they re-entered the camera littered hallways.

"Sephiroth," his deep voice carried easily, and the SOLDIERs started, spinning about at the previously unnoticed presence, swords instinctively raised.

Vincent freed himself from the shadows, stepping into the light as he pulled off the concealing SOLDIERs' helmet he wore. He'd not been foolish enough to think he could walk unchallenged through the Tower corridors, and while he could conceal himself better than most enhanced humans, he no longer had the demons inhabiting his body who had made the task of stealth effortless. He'd needed the camouflage of a SOLDIER's unremarkable uniform and masking helmet to maneuver unnoticed through the halls. The sleeveless sweater left him feeling uncomfortably exposed, but he would walk naked through the heart of Midgar if that was what it took to see his blood-son.

"Vincent?" Sephiroth could not keep the surprise out of his voice as he recognized his father, and Vincent was relieved to see a little of the ice layer crack.

Vincent gave a silent nod, shaking his thick hair from the helmet's confines and letting it fall in a wealth of ebony down his back, framing bare arms that were crisscrossed by white scars like lacework and the edges of Hojo's tattoo standing out like ink upon the paleness of his neck where it road over the high-collar of the SOLDIER sweater. The golden metal of his gauntlet had been muted with a long, black leather glove with only the tips of his claws poking out at the ends. It was amazing what a bit of dark leather could do; if Vincent kept his hand fisted it could almost pass as a normal arm, and peoples' gaze slid right over it.

"What are you doing here?" Sephiroth asked, bewildered by his father's sudden, unlooked for appearance.

"I came to see you." Vincent said simply.

Fair's eyes darted between the two, a secret smile lifting his lips, and Vincent was flushed with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the boy. He'd not given the SOLDIER enough credit before, but Fair was a good friend, and had stood beside not one, but both of his sons when he could not. He silently swore not to doubt the boy's loyalty again.

Fair caught his gaze and offered him a playful salute, a full blow grin on his mouth now that eased away the tiredness and grief Vincent had seen there only moments before. "I'll give you two a minute, shall I?" He propped his massive sword on his shoulder and nodded at Vincent, "Good to see ya again, Vince." Vincent winced at the epithet, but only inclined his head at the young man. Fair's eyes flitted over to Sephiroth before he ventured, "How's Spiky doing?"

Vincent mulled over his response a moment, then, "I believe, should you wish to call him, he would be pleased to tell you himself."

Fair nodded slowly, "Yeah, I think I'll do that, then." And he turned with one last glance at Sephiroth that was half hopeful half worried, and took his exit, leaving them in privacy.

Vincent's attention focused back on his son, and he noted all the little details he'd wanted to deny when he'd first caught sight of Sephiroth, but could not. There was a coldness in those eyes that had not been there three months ago, which reminded him of those first few weeks in the CNO prison cell when he'd learned an impossible dream was reality –Lucrecia's child was _his_. It distressed him to see how deeply Sephiroth had withdrawn into himself.

Not this time, Vincent swore. He was not going to let Sephiroth do this too himself. Vincent had not endured fifty-six years on this Planet to let his sons make the same mistakes he had. He'd be having a talk with Cloud when he returned to Rocket Town. He'd let this fester too long, thinking Cloud needed the time to grieve; but Cloud had thrown himself obsessively into Elfé's care, and refused to deal with the events that had led to the swordswoman's condition. Vincent still had his position as Hand Director that took him away from the little house that smelt of sickness, but Chaos had been a frequent visitor at Vincent's request, and kept Cloud from starving or dropping from exhaustion. Vincent understood Cloud was struggling with blame, but enough was enough. This separation was hurting both of them. It was a tragedy, yes, but Shears wouldn't have wanted his death to destroy Cloud, and Vincent doubted Commander Hewley would have wanted this for Sephiroth either.

Grief was a mountain only you could conquer, but that didn't mean a friend couldn't carry your pack for you.

"I would have come sooner, but the War…" Vincent struggled for words, and wished he had his high cowl to hide his face behind. He looked at his boots –leather, not metal—and let his long bangs fall into his eyes.

"I did not expect you to come." Sephiroth finally admitted, his voice tightly reigning in any emotion behind a mask of apathy.

Vincent's eyes snapped up, searching his son's face. "Of course I came. You're my son. I've hurt you too many times in the past by my inaction to let this be another."

Surprise leaked into eyes hard as jade, "I thought….after Wutai…"

"I feared that what occurred in Wutai would happen. I've feared it for months, years. It was not your fault, only the inevitable fate of friends fighting on opposite ends of a war."

A muscle in Sephiroth's jaw jumped, and a fine tremor started along Masamune's blade as the hand holding it clenched bone-white to keep from shaking.

"It's not your fault." Vincent repeated, taking a few slow steps forward to close the gap between them. He felt Sephiroth's pain as his own in his bones, and shook with the weight of its loneliness and despair. "My son," the naked fingers of his human hand, clad only in a fingerless glove, reached up to brush a piece of silver bang out of staring green eyes. The contact feather-light as Vincent dared to touch the son he'd never held before, though his arms ached with the loss of a newborn's tiny impression against his chest, wishing they could have known that joy. "My beautiful son."

Sephiroth's eyes fisted, a swallow thickened his throat as he struggled against a tidal wave of emotions, half of which he couldn't even begin to define.

"You are what you are. Never be ashamed of that. You are a better man than I." Vincent let his hand drop, but Sephiroth's shot up to grasp it in a bruising grip.

"Why?" He demanded, lost. "Why?"

"Because I would have you see yourself as you truly are, free of Hojo's lies and the one's of your own making. I wish you could see the man I see. I know I cannot free myself of Hojo's legacy alone, and I fear you cannot either. But you don't have to do this alone."

"I feel alone," Sephiroth confessed on a breath.

"I know," Vincent said, wishing he could take all his son's pain into himself.

Sephiroth released Vincent's hand, and took a steadying lung full of air. "You can't stay, can you?"

Vincent hummed. "Not in the Tower. I do not think Rufus would appreciate me as a guest," he offered a rueful smile. "But I will stay in the City for a week."

Sephiroth frowned; then, hesitantly, "And Cloud? How…is he?"

"He has taken it hard," Vincent did not lie. "But Elfé survived, and her child as well, though not without the witch's help."

Sephiroth's eyes snapped fire at the mention of Ryquendë, "What happened?"

"The baby had suffered Mako Poisoning –Elfé had not stopped taking her monthly Mako shots—and would not have survived, but the witch worked her magic, injecting her cells into the child, and…it seems you shall have another sibling, if you call those with the witch's cell's kin?"

Sephiroth's mouth pressed into a thin line. "I do not know. I had not thought on it, but I suppose, in a way, they are _family_." The word can out lilted, like a strange wine upon Sephiroth's tongue as he savored the new thought and found it pleasing. "I have two brothers," he said slowly, "and a…?"

"It's a girl," Vincent answered.

"A sister," Sephiroth finished. Then he frowned as he rewound what Vincent had said, "But Cloud is…?"

"The witch does nothing without price, and she will take Elfé's baby when it is born. It has not been easy for Elfé, nor for Cloud."

"Can nothing be done?"

Vincent shook his head. "Elfé is bound by a vow just as powerful as the one Ryquendë made when she swore not to touch you."

"I see." Sephiroth said. "But you will stay?" He asked, not quite able to keep the desperate hope out of his voice.

"Yes, for a time, and I will come again." Vincent vowed.

The stiffness that had held Sephiroth's shoulders in a ridged line eased at his father's promise, and the hint of a smile touched previously cold lips.

….

Vincent stood outside Tseng's door examining the shiny gold plaque declaring Tseng 'Director of the Department of Administrative Research.' Vincent had parted from Sephiroth with a promise of meeting again that evening in the City where they could both escape Shinra's many eyes. For now though, Vincent had one more person to see before he could melt into the anonym of Midgar's slums. Tseng was a friend, an ally he owed an unpaid debt to, and he wanted to confirm for himself that the mantel of Turk Director was settling well on the young man's shoulders. Gaia knew it was not an easy one to bear.

Vincent didn't bother knocking. He slipped into the spacious office, offing the helmet that he was still using to hide from the many security cameras, and wishing he had his trusted cloak about him.

Tseng had his gun out and aimed at Vincent's head before he was able to identify the intruder. A fine brow rose in disbelief as the Turk slowly lowered his weapon, and they stared at each other for a moment before Tseng commented, "That's an interesting outfit, Vincent."

"It is isn't? It does highlight a rather large hole in your security though." Vincent's mouth twitched.

"I'll look into it. How did you come by a SOLDIER uniform?" Tseng smirked back.

"The black market," Vincent deadpanned.

"Really? I hadn't realized they were in such high demand."

"Right up there with elderly whores."

"Now that's an image I could have lived without, Valentine." Tseng chuckled, and waved Vincent into a chair.

The gunman took it, not failing to note the way Tseng's eyes lingered upon the black tattoo lines curling about his neck. He had to adjust Cerberus as he sat; the three barreled gun was tucked into the waistband of his loose slacks; he longed for his leg holster. He took a moment to study Tseng in turn. The Turk looked surprisingly well. It seemed being Director agreed with him.

"You look well," he voiced his thoughts.

Tseng gave him a mocking smile. "Well, things have been…different here lately."

"A good different?" Vincent raised an inquiring brow.

Tseng steepled his hands on the desk, "Yes, a good different. It seems Shinra runs much more effectively without a Science Department. Perhaps it should have been purged years ago."

"You wouldn't happen to have had a hand in that, would you?" He gave Tseng a knowing look which the Turk returned. Turk influence was often underestimated, they were seen as voiceless hounds by many, but their President gave them his ear, and trust, more than anyone else in this Company.

"It's gutted, completely?" Vincent voiced his disbelief.

Tseng shrugged, "There's the SOLDIER program, of course. The SODLIERs still need their Mako shots, but the experimentation is all but dead. Rufus cut off their funding, and with no money, and the destruction of the labs, there is little they can do. The Science Department took up thirty percent of the budget, and without it draining Shinra's pockets many programs that have been underfunded for years are finally getting some attention. The military is better equipped; Palmer's trying to get the Space Program reinstated, though thank Gaia that will never happen, and the Plate's getting the structural repairs Tuesti has been asking for for years. The Turks have been given a larger budget as well," Tseng leveled Vincent with a look, "Enough to expand our ranks."

Vincent hummed.

"I'd like to start with outside hires, do you know of anyone one who might be interested?" Tseng slanted a glance at him, both playful and serious.

"Perhaps," the gunman answered, "Though it's hard to strip from an outside source, especially if they already have a steady employer."

"True, but should an accident occur and their Company find itself with a new head, how would that affect their decision?" Tseng let the question hang in the air, brimming with unspoken words.

"It would depend upon how loyal they are to their present Company, and how many comrades are harmed in this accident." Vincent countered, though he was by no means objecting to Tseng's proposal, or the recipient of said 'accident.'

He would not miss the witch; she had served her purpose, as had the CNO. Vincent had no reasons left to keep his alliance with either. He didn't give his loyalty to an institution –not after Shinra—but to people (and half of those people stood with Shinra). The idea of helping to tear down something he'd helped build did not bother him. The CNO's task was complete. Shinra may not be in ashes, but Hojo was dead, and Shinra had been de-throned from world rule and forced to reform. Vincent would have liked to see more change, but no government was perfect, and the CNO was little better. Vincent was not an environmentalist; he cared little for the Planet. His goals were personal: he never wanted to see his sons across a battlefield again, and he wanted his people safe –his Hands, his sons, his lover. Ryquendë had hurt people he cared for when she demanded Elfé's baby. She should have played her cards more carefully.

"None, if all goes according to plan, but there can be no guarantees." Tseng answered.

"Of course. So, it would only be their employer who fell prey to a mishap?" Vincent clarified.

Tseng nodded, "Ideally."

"And how many new Turks are you potential looking to scavenge from this unfortunate Company?" Vincent slid his fingertips down the sleek, dark wood of his chair, the intense red of his irises fixed upon Tseng's face.

"If their loyalty can be assured, there would be a spot waiting for as many as would like a change of scenery." Tseng held the red eyes steadily, and Vincent gave a short nod, telling the Turk he trusted his word even if he didn't trust Tseng's employers.

"You know what they say about Turks? They're survivors. I'd say that goes for the members of this unfortunate Company as well, don't you agree?" Vincent asked with the hint of smile.

Tseng answered it. "Rude says we're like cats: nine lives."

"Cat's are far more flattering a comparison then cockroaches." Vincent said wryly.

Tseng chuckled, a relief at a dance smoothly executed and ended to his liking. "I've heard that one too."

Vincent stood, all lithe limbs, and Tseng could almost see the absent red cloak swirling gracefully about his calves. "It seems we have planning ahead of us. Do you wish to include any of the old crowd in this?"

"Reeve Tuesti would be a good addition." Tseng mused. Vincent hummed in agreement. "A drink before we begin?" Tseng asked, standing as well.

Vincent nodded his agreement, and Tseng poured them both an inch of the rice liquor his homeland was known for; it settled in their crystal glasses like clear water. Tseng shared a sly grin with Vincent as he raised his glass in a toast, "To survivors."

Vincent could drink to that.

Tseng licked his lips, savoring the lingering burn of the liquor and set his glass down carefully on the dark wood of his desk, his finger circling the lip thoughtfully. "What do you know of the Neo-Midgar Project…?"

* * *

><p>Story Notes:<p>

Neo-Midgar Project: Hojo used the idea of the Promised Land to keep influence with Rufus's father who became obsessed with the idea of a land flowing with Mako.

Aerith and her mother were both targeted because of their supposed knowledge of the Promised Land's location. Tseng would naturally be interested in shelving the idea of the Promised Land since Aerith would be safer if Shinra no longer needed her for the project.

"Neo Midgar was President Shinra's idea. His vision was to build it in the legendary Promised Land, and make it an improved model based upon the present design of Midgar. Because the Promised Land was so full of Mako it would not even need to be processed beforehand, it would clearly be a better location for the Shinra company's headquarters." –Final Fantasy Wiki

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><p>Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who has supported this story thus far by reading and reviewing. Your continued support has truly made this possible, and your wonderful words have meant the world to me. Thank-you all.<p>

I cannot say, however, when this story will be updated again. I have been working on other writing at the moment, but I hope the muse for Calamity swings back around because it still has a ways to go and I'd like to finish it at some time. Again, thank-you everyone for the support.


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